Am I proud or not. Have I changed my morals and my thoughts completely. Have I changed that much?
With that object in my hand, I can't help but feel grown up and daring. Mischievous and unpredictable. Yet, when I come home and go over the night in my head, I think of only what has happened to me. What happened to my very morals that I thought about for hours and thought I'd never break. Do I even know who I am or what my basic rules are? Have I really drowned in the never ending pool of conformity? I shutter at this thought. Will I turn into Slick. That really makes me shutter.
And karma. Oh boy does that bring you back to reality. Without it I don't think I could do well in life. It's like a helping hand and it will always be there. No matter what.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.