Trapped Or beyond the artificial boundaries Buffeted by external circumstances Skipping to the rhythm of others Regretting where I am who I am what I can do Spiralling In the rough waves, head above sometimes The boat glides by, yet the ocean is behind; I cannot see, am blinded by the spray I search for that thing that drains my colour turns me grey, black and white finding possibilities in a narrowing cone, down which I blow I look back at alternate paths – what route I could be treading now, only if I had held out back then, turned right rather than left The faceless wrestler steps out; I grapple them as I revisit the difficult interviews of my life; the rejections perhaps already decided but I turn and try to toss this bulky body grasping me firmly, I shrink becoming an ant, hard as nails caught in the tweezers of my opponent.
