Free will compels me
to wiggle this pen,
just as it urges my heart
to beat once again,
and in the same manner
that I chose all my friends
when we were volitional
five- and six-year-old kids.
I hereby decide
to breathe more air in,
and I choose, too, to gawk
as floating dust specks spin,
my lips curled up
into a sad buffoon's grin,
as I consider the future,
filled with well-planned, well-earned wins.
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