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As a child I used to stand in front of the mirror
stripping my identities off layer by layer
until all that remained of my ego was my odyl.
Come morning I would gather up my potential,
my masks and the scarred boxes that held them
delighted in the knowledge that I could be anyone.

I survived because I was never still,
because my dreams were too big for lists,
too big to cram into my bloody left pocket.
I loved but the universe did not think
to grant me love in return.
My heart opened and closed like a trap
but I was so afraid of what I might catch
that I put up warning signs all over.
I fell in love with the love of others.
I became a voyeur, a listener, a story-teller.
I shared my favorite things
with my favorite people and held my breath.

My trust comes in waves,
it either is or it is not
depending on my mood.
My trust is not in the goodness of man,
which I have no right to judge,
but in the cyclic nature of all things great and small.
A man can tell lies but he will always be a man.



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