Even So I Struggle

Question me.
Engage my near insanity.

Am I but a whisper,
Would I be less or am I more?

Question me.
Insist on metamorphosis.

Am I a blank slate
Upon which a text not mine
Should originate?

Question me.

But this, this is my humanity.
I shout in subtle secrecies.
And with such I know
Why no one perceives me.

Even so, I struggle.
Because much the same,
I bleed when cut:
For I am questioned
In order that I may be dismissed.


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