I Did Not Choose

I do not choose to write, 

any more than I chose 

my own name. 

It exudes like the sun 

gives it's warmth, 

steadily and without any 

thought of self-preservation. 

I do not choose to sing, 

any more than I chose 

the curl of my hair. 

It boils out of me, 

like an impatient geyser 

too long confined 

in the dark earth.

I did not choose to love you, 

any more than I set 

the depth of the ocean. 

But it is there, 

dark and unfathomable, 

obedient to nothing 

but the call of the midnight moon.