If, once again, I am a little late
What does it matter? Whose priorities
Am I to follow? Must I never wait
For what I want, myself, and always seize
The undesired opportunities
That others send me? Is my will my own?
Or does it bend to others by degrees
Insensible to how my wants have grown,
So I may never reap the seeds I've sown,
But only harvest others' fruit? Am I
Myself? Or are these worries overblown,
A pointless and infuriating cry
Of privilege? For after all, who cares
But me how fast I hurry down the stairs?
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