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by Harrison

They all seem to know who
I am supposed to be, not
So clear is it to me

How easily I fell, grasping
On to rancid ideals, leaving
Just whisps of my self. Believing

Their foolish words, imposed, freakish tones
Opened me up to the bones that bore Truth,
And that All, allowing me to be

So grim. Were the lessons learned?
Nothing left but to give thanks
For a life I could not live with
My self in their world, or any.

I’m sorry.

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