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12
Title.
<p> Sure of myself I say😔, until I begin to stagger and stutter, not of my will or that I wish it, but that my insecurities and fears begin to fill me with the lies I conjure up, I begin to fail to see me, I now see a portrait painted to be me, not of my being, but my impersonation, I am twinned, a primary setback, until it settles to get me, as it creeps into my mind, I deviate, I lose but tend to develop as I grow, keen on demanding my royalties from life, I consent to my success and pin it on to a board, for I have come out of my well and have entered a garden I call my dwelling place, I find solace in solitude, solidarity in structure, emptiness in everything. I relate to all, but wonder of all.</p>
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4
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