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Untitled 4

I
Feel ashamed when I fall out of favor.
I
Lower my head, relax my shoulders,
And lose my way toward the simplest
Of destinations. I trip over my thoughts
To bring myself back to the trail I
Feel I was pushed from. I
Run through paved clearings and
Brake to take a route through
The woods:the limbs and leaves
Grazing me as I sprint and stumble,
Sprint and stumble toward
The benches between trees and where
The irregulars walk at a safe distance from.
That’s
Really what this is about: safety.
The
Ability to be safely away from
Who is looking a threat,
Who is still while we are moving.
And, we must show them, the
Sitters, still, we are not afraid;
Though, truly, we are– or distance
Would be but an inconvenience.

Show. That’s what we do. We
Show others who we want to be,
Like puppets of ourselves, and
Reluctant ring leaders hiding
The lack of any acts. All the while,
We long for others to see through
This visage/this brittle, transparent
Film we’ve placed in our own eyes,
But for theirs. Here is where the
Clues become relevant, though the
Others seldom look to watch our acts
And, thusly, see our tells. How funny.

Test.txt
My Own You

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