Turmoil, as to how I came to be
Because I ceased to be
Existing within a perfect flawed state of being
Looking at the reflection of what I ought to be
Not who I am meant to be
Bordered on the good-bad, of what it means to be me
Lingering on the truth presented before me
I grapple to distinguish opinion to fact
A pity,
For I feel but a sham of what I am supposed to be
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