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To be

I sleep through the night, waking to the sound of rain, straining to grasp the purpose for waking again to a new day of uncertainty.

I hold tight to the past, those moments that made me cry: made me hide my identity to match what others saw when they looked through me.

Standing again, against the winds of storms of past struggles I find refuge in being different after all of these years trying to change myself to meet their expectations.

Categories: writing

jasonwhitaker29171

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