Sullied, shitty, stamped with the word “no,”
A vessel of mismatched parts
None belonging to me and none
Really making up the flesh that I inhabit
A spirit that has been terminally ill
But through some miracle of humanity
Resurrected time after
Time, af ter each bloody battle.
The past rises up to haunt me
Grabs me by the neck and screams
Into my face loud as a goose in a chase
“You are not enough!”
Hesitantly, I swallow these words
Out of habit, command and apathy
Not knowing whether to vomit them now
Or later, stuck in the fear that paralyzes
Every atom of my earthly being
-T. Lamb
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