It never occurred to me 
that this was reality
until I made an 11:11 wish one starry night.
It never seemed to me
that things were of lucidity 
until I was left with the crumbs of potential
...I had to make them into bread again.
It never pestered me
to want to be someone of worth
until I clung 
To migrating matters.
(the sun must go down, too.)
It never dawned on me
that the world is more cynical than myself 
until I did it wrong,
and
it never mattered to me 
that I am not who I wanted to be.
We are but dust.