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Who am I
I am a pencil sitting on a desk forever
waiting, waiting, waiting to be of use to be
the tool that made some great work possible to be
gripped tightly in a sweaty hand feverishly writing
To be needed, wanted, useful to the end.
I am a fish swimming in the doctor's office
Wanting to be free, wanting to enter the world I see
through wavy layers of glass and water through my
limited vision on the side of my head through the
token seaweed and plastic figures placed for viewer
enjoyment and not my own.
I am a blade of grass lying dormant
through the cold winter, anticipating the first
warm rays of spring, anticipating the welcome
fall of rain that will bring me to great heights only
to be cut down ruthlessly by a chopping blade and
a droning sound and a kid who pays little attention
to this routine job.
I am myself. I am nobody. I am a poet. I am the world.
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