There is this grip it thought I didn’t have,
a grip I didn’t know I had, until my eyes were born.
There is this strength it thought I never possessed,
a strength I took for granted that I had, until my mind was born.
It doesn’t matter how much of the strength deposit was withdrawn behind me.
There is this joy it thought I’d never find,
a joy I misplaced and never bothered to cultivate.
There is this precision it though I’d never master,
a precision that’s so simple its stupidity blinds everyone who are the way I was.
It fed fat on glee, seeing me goof around on slippery plane.
There is this grip it thought I didn’t have.
There is this joy it thought I’d never find;
one that erects walls of love, light, and laughter,
a joy it made obscure before my face, until my eyes were born.
There is this life it hoped I’d never find,
a life that was given to me in fine sheets of gold, long before I was born.