To Trailblaze

I was taught to trailblaze,
but when I turned twenty, I was handed a map—
drawn in borrowed ink
and stolen street names.

College.
Career.
Marriage.
Mortgage.

But the lines blur and cross,
the ink leaks,
the roads end.

We are not copies.
We are not traced in carbon.
We are living sketches—
unfinished,
imperfect,
burning into shapes and paths
no one has seen before.

Twenty is not a destination.
It is no landmark, no milestone.
It is a light breaking through,
a refusal to walk roads worn thin by others,
a reminder that the earth only burns
where we choose to walk.