10/30 / by Britta Badour

Where will I go? 
Am I as free as my ancestors dreamed? 
Who do I want my children to be? 

An inspiration
flowers my mind
as prolific as the strands of hair that spiral
from my head
I transform ambiently
a granted wish for the best split
into bite-sized petals and fed
to anyone who's encountered me
with bitterness

I can't help my wisdoms. Wherever
I go, I'll search for insight
I'll search for the moon
I'll search for control
and I'll look to lose
it too