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Who am I?

A tempest of uncertainty?

A sarcophagus of self?

If only I could cut and paste

and reconstruct myself.

 

What am I?

A trajectory of past mistakes

An ocean of regret?

A facsimile I represent

to everyone I’ve met.

 

Where am I?

Swimming up the fast lane

or drowning in the deep

on nights when insecurities

invade my restless sleep?

 

Why can’t I…

just close my eyes and jump

down into the abyss

of everlasting hope –

without a doubtful rope?

 

When I escape from what I am

I become all that I might be.

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