The Curse

I still have the curse
Of synchronized meanings
And subtly obvious
Coincidental debate.

I still have to time
All my actions just right
To keep with the step
Of the orbits of space.

Everything I am
Has been written distinct
On pages and pages
With numbers and dates.

I still have to worry
And I’m swallowed by fate
‘Til I finally see
That this curse is just me.

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Filed under poem, poetry

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