Do not choose for me,
make up my mind for me.
Point me in the direction
you would like me to go,
think I should go.
Tell me the answer to
questions I cannot yet hear.

Even as I waver, wonder,
stand straddled
between two worlds,
declaring in surrender that
I Do Not Know,
it does not serve me
for you to swiftly offer your
well-informed opinion,
the certainty of
what you would do
if you were me,
if you were in my shoes,
no room for the breath
of my own awareness.

Even as I reach for you,
cling to you, pleading, begging
you to tell me what is right,
what my spirit is calling for,
persuading you that you are
the only one who can help,
do not believe me.

Do not fall into the trap of
believing that you can save me,
draw me safely to the shore
with the sound of your

unwavering voice,
the life vest of your conviction
strapped tightly to my chest,
convincing me that
I forgot how to swim.

This is my path,
and mine alone.
Not to be defended
held outward as a
badge of honor.
But one to be
protected fervently,
treated as holy, hallowed.

Yes, this path is shaped,
fired and formed by
a conglomerate of
friends and foes,
insiders and outsiders,
a crowd of well-to-doers that
love me for who I am.

And while these influences
strengthen me, buoy me,
provide a moment of sanity
when I have hit rock bottom,

they must serve solely as
backup to my shining solo,
never eclipsing the choices
that can only be,
should only be
made by me.

Recordings from Kimberly

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