become ungovernable
I'm not the lonely type. I'm quite good at being alone.
I like my own space, my own food, my own face, my own mood.
And when someone says, you must feel like such an orphan, with no frame to come back to-
well, I didn't, did I? I wanted to fit me into we; I have not hungered for a family that I discarded, that is not there.
I haven't. I didn't. I don't.
I just want what's in front of me. I want my vision to be correct, my judgement to be true.
I want to be able to trust myself. I want to be able to trust you.
No one can tell me what to do.
(i'm too resistant)
No one can tell me what to do.
(it just doesn't happen)
No one can tell me what to do.
(i'm crowdsourced)
No one can tell me what to do.
(oh, not possibly)
No one can tell me what to do.
(who would bother?)
No one can tell me what to do.
(but others, they might)
No one can tell me what to do.
(not exactly)
No one can tell me what to do.
(only admonition)
No one can tell me what to do.
(or think, or feel)
No one can tell me what to do.
(that's up to me)
Ungovernable.
Perhaps, unpredictable.
Unwrangleable. Unmanageable.
Infeasible. Incomprehensible.
Impossible.
Oh, you're impossible. You're of your own mind. You're incorrigible, unadvisable.
Unreachable. Untouchable. Nearly, invisible.
And I must be so wretchedly committed to my own self-investment that I haven't the time to turn to others.
I've told myself the same old fictions a thousand-odd times, times a million. That I must turn away from the world, and forge a path unexpected, undivided, unprovided.
My calling must be so resistant to the rebukes of tradition that the two can hardly coexist in conversation.
That you, an old folk, should even dream of speaking to, for, or about me?
I'm new. I'm different. I'm obsolete.
These choices we make, to cast off our chains, never really leave us; come back in refrains.
No supervisor. No super miser, whose opinions rule our every resting roost. Nothing but the world as our eyes see fit to see. And so, as much as one admits to the places where their ego has been battered and brutally hit, one cannot see around the frame. One cannot unlock the door which remains warding against a conventional understanding.
You have to realize that there's no going forward, so long as there's a going back.
You can't want what you once had. You're here now; it's not changing.
You are out, out, out.