i’m stuck between a rock and a hard place

except the hard place is me and my

stubborn tongue with my fast moving lips

unruly hair with sweat dripping town my finger tips.

starting over is supposed to be liberating and sweet

but i cant seem to move my feet

fast enough to be on my way to progressing and

growing in the forward direction.

i wish i knew myself better

and i wish i could understand the enigmatic

part  of my minute world

but i suppose thats the point of all this.

it is my mission to one day consider all

and until then my ideas remain detached

my soul almost dried up

with the smallest amount of hope

left.

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