Myself…
which I’m left alone with,
bored with the facade.
The myself who never can run away from, dragging it along.
Myself, who I can’t come to terms with, to know it.
Whereas sometimes, I loathed to be it.
On the contrary, a version of myself who laughs with it and sometimes lends a shoulder to cry on it.
My body is a burden,
rooted in this place,
rooted in myself.
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