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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #2067100
11/15 Another trip to the therapist leads to more confusion and little in answers.
When you can't disclose
everything you've come to know,
how can you define what your purpose is?
What is my meaning?
Why am I here?
There's plenty I came with
but the answers escape
my willingness to discern-
         or is it concern,
         or be
         alarmed-
I
don't
know.

What am I hiding?
I've got nothing to try;
nothing no one wants.
Little more to see.
I don't know what to run from
and there's
no place to go
even if I was sure.

Disclosure.
Closure.
Sure.
Surefire.
Fire
         sale
         me
         brand
         me
         start
         me
         up
         me
from where?

The sun without color.
A light in search of a tunnel.
Your entry in my disbelief.
Home and no patience for it.
No direction.
No clear sign of self-worth.
No directions.
No purpose.

The sentence-ending preposition.
I'm your thoughtless proposition.
Always the best-intentioned.
Failed arts of intuitions.
No more sanctions.
No mere serpentious.
No directopious.
No purpose.

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