I only wish that I could be so articulate. Wisewoodpigeon at Sanctuary5014 has written a beautiful and moving poem.
The ME I carry inside is the result of years of life experience,
Of good days and bad, of decisions and the lack of,
Of events I didn’t choose, and plans I mapped out,
Of goals and dreams and hopes, some realised, some put aside,
some relegated to darkest corners of my memory;
Of people I have encountered along the way
Of joys and sorrows shared, connections made,
Of pain concealed and private reflection, veiled belief and unspoken debate,
Of contemplation, musings and silent brooding.
The ME I carry inside is the product of psychological carcinogens,
Of cerebral warfare, bayonets and subliminal Molotov cocktails
Of emotional barbed wire and incarceration
The target of soul destroying machine guns and flame throwers
Mere cannon fodder in someone else’s pitiful game.
A pawn, a pilgrim, journeyman, jester and vagrant.
A queen, a fool, artisan, washerwoman and dreamer.
The ME I carry inside is…
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