I Need Space

The first time I was in the air, I thought I was going to die.
Starcraft cabins are so much smaller than I expected,
and the noises it was making under the Gs
reminded me of a can getting crushed
and I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the prospect of becoming the soda. 
 
If training wasn't paid, I would’ve quit.
I ran to the hangar cafeteria right after cashing my first check
and bought one of every available snack
so finally, FINALLY, I’d have one thing just for me 
and I had every one of them stolen under my nose the minute I fell asleep.
 
The first time I went up alone, though, was more like today:
I hoped the cabin would seize up before I imploded on my own.
I was sick of it — sick of being served crap 
and being expected to be grateful I got a cut.
But then I broke out of the ship’s gravity field, 
and the pressure was gone as soon as it came,
and it was just me in that cabin.
 
Every time I was made to fight, 
for my squad’s life, as well as my own,
they were trying to take this away from me
but they can’t. Nobody can. It’s mine.

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