Through each tattered layer of what I once held so dear
What I used to cling to for the safety from fear
In order to hide the pain of keeping myself so small
I learned that I was so much more than what I had the nerve to see
The constant voices inside that sold catastrophe like it was never in doubt
The claim that I would never be enough, so why even try
The bully pulpit of what was right, moral, and acceptable.
They were not mine, but echoes of the collective disposition to keep itself contained from
truly loving, losing, and learning.
I felt the inner dissonance.
The rub inside my hub
The core of what life was meant to feel like, not look like.
I was convinced to follow the road most traveled until I saw myself hanging on the cross
of its dead end post.
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