Over the years, I’ve grown to rely on ordered rows, line leaders, tape markers dictating
my next step.  I submitted to the mindless procession toward a future preordained,
a diploma whose letters I had been inscribing since I first learned
to march single file.  Shoving me into the “real world”
is like releasing a rescued animal into the wilderness after she has forgotten
the feeling of sodden earth on her paws.  I meander,
       searching for the familiar, waiting for codes of conduct to build fences
               for me, for parents to feed
                              me correct decisions.
                                                 The further I wander from graduation day, the further I journey 

          into a forested labyrinth

                    of winding trails choked with rampant possibility,

                                                                                                                                   all open to me. 

                                                                                      Where do I go from here?

  The answer intoxicates the wildest
 
                                                                                        part of me, the reckless dreamer ordered

                                                          lines could never tame:

                                                                                                                                              anywhere