If there wasn't a first, everyone would be better off

Blast it all. I just feel sappy. I try to write, but nothing wants to be said, well, not entirely true. I tried saying it twice, but I fear I will not only fail to communicate, but also offend and alienate. Metaphors are gone, rhymes are overused and weak, and no muse is mercifully minding my aching need to know that now is the right time to write totally meatless morsels of well-meaning messages. I've got nothing. I want to say something about choices, because every choice we make is really our existence voicing its opinion of what we feel the future should hold. Each decision commissions the Earth to build another wall, wrapping mortals in another rather righteous round ring, defining us, masking us. But we can't leave it all up to chance, because chance is just a fancy way to say that our voice concedes to the deeds of previous needs. I'm just sick of being told to bleed for the deeds of dead men and chancing my life to the insane antics of anglo-saxon angels told to teach timid little me to finally find faith in their ideals. Do we allow ourselves to be defined by our actions or do we let chance decide the actions and we decide the possibilities? Do we accept that we are who we act out? Do we let fate or predestination or flipism shape our road and if we do, do we watch each other or the road shift? Is it fair to let our choice be taken from us in the attempt to clean off the makeup masking our minds and bodies? When does a mask stop being a mask and actually attach itself to its owner?