poetry in a bottle

I was birthed in a rush,
i must hurry,
rise i must
to the surface to burst.
U see when the bottle tips beer into this vessel the race has begun.
We all shoot for a breather,a s we froth together,
in much haste we brim over
I was born a bubble,hav e a natural fear of colliding with others thus I dodge trouble mummy says i am an escapist, whatever that means. I escape thats what I do
2.
We are all candidates of the Pour for its the tipping point
when the open bottle neck is at a lower altitude to the base.
We come in a rush the golden gush.
The bubble republic at its full glory! Everyone in a fizzy state.
We defy the downer you call
gravity as we start our surface race.
It hard to say what I love the most;the cheer of spectators on the bystands-perched on the inner walls of the glass vessel or the adrenal push of tiny bubbles shootin upwardsto surface break.
Our frenzy reaches a climax when webreak the threshold!
Berth the surface,popping in air!
Mother must have told me a hundred things saying I am an escapist and being born for this is most definately true.