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Skinwalker
Searching for meaning in the flipping pages of my notebook
Sometimes flashes of color may present themselves
Sometimes they only show me a simple grey print
However, for the most part only blank pages wait for me.
I don’t belong here.
The way I dress, the way I act
Am I really me?
Or am I merely a low quality projection of those I wish to be
A creature of mediocrity attempting greatness
A creature trying to be so many things that at some point it forgot what it was.
Was I ever really anything unique?
Was I ever really me?
Who am I?
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