Who We Are

What do you think
What do you mean
Who takes hold
Who lives inside me
Who we are
when I go back
when I look back
when I’m faced
with last night’s bravery and stupid decisions
when I can turn it slowly
turn the dial
twist it
flip the switch,
every morning I crush myself
under the weight of something
I can’t even see
It always turns into this.
It always comes down to this.
Who we are
is less of what we want
and more of who we aren’t,
who we fear to be,
even when that being
would be better.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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