Being me is really difficult.

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The stain of coffee lingers fresh
unfolding yesterdays
which languidly turns to yesteryears,
cementing thoughts over my
eyes, sulking dolefully.

life never changes.

But, I have a beautiful life.
each morning, I open my eyes
to the lethal secret revealing more
and more to me…circling through my past
and narrating connotations
to endless loops of dark secrets;
and I am learning from my mistakes
because the pain never heals
as I sullenly revolve
like an earth, on my own axis.

I am content.
not conceited; why shouldn’t I be?
the truth of something making me inhuman
shrouds behind thick shield of me
and it stays sealed;
until the mystery of myself never divulge to the open;
I am glad each day is a blessing
that dawns without losing my respect.

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3 thoughts on “Being me is really difficult.

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