Bestimmung / Purpose: A Poem

You sent me off into the world,

You looked rather proud, as if

I were on the right path, on the one

That was intended, on the one that you

Intended for me. I had no idea who I was

And had never learned how to listen to myself.


I made a lot of decisions thinking they were mine.

But I looked at your faces. The joy. The unknown that

Was mine. How you judged others because they stayed

And chose a different path that you deemed too normal,

In the short run. You dangled promises in front of my eyes

And I believed you, I swallowed your images whole and walked

The path, and I lost myself more and more, until I cracked

And found myself, on my knees reassembling the pieces anew

According to myself.


But it just would never be good enough, you had something

In mind, do things just like you, smooth, running, functional,

Going back to the roots, the motherhouse, the country of money,

(You never understood that I escaped, you never wanted to believe why)

The same patterns weaved into your life that I sense to be starving,

That was never me, but you wouldn’t want to see that, you wanted me

Behind you on your path and lifeline, dragging me along, thinking of

Me as invisible and integrated, money-making, money-absorbing, your

Constant idea of success, depression accepted as a side effect, the good life

Where money flows, in solitude, drowned in work without purpose,

Ungrateful, muddled.


You wanted me to become this, you wanted me to become that,

Without ever looking at the real deal, the reality of existences,

What  certain choices meant in the world we live in, how hard

It would be to be who I truly am, to do what I truly feel is me,

And you’d never say the word that stepped into the room, failure,

Through your door,

On your mind, your old thought patterns and indoctrination and

Definitions of success, from the pest in your skull into mine, nebulous,

I tried to resist, I started to stick to my own guns, and all you can see is

The lack of possessions in my corner, that’s all you could ever see,

And put on an outdated pedestal.

The accumulation of senseless things, not the words I spoke, not the

Words I could speak, the worlds I could create in my brain, you judged

What I did with my hands, you know what?

I write with my whole body,

I write with my mind, I write with my heart, I didn’t let anyone

Transform me into a day to day ghost for a cause that isn’t my own.

white rose and pink smoke
Photo by Flora Westbrook on

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