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Jil Nance

I Come From

I come from the trash, the garbage, the murky gray, the hidden places I’d rather not say.

I come from spending early years in the noise, the loud voices, the clutter of broken toys.

As I grew, my heart broken, overheated and boiling my blood.

I was destruction, calamity and regrets made real by silence and my own ill intentions. Now I hesitate on my own reflections.

So, sorry for my mad mind, my broken heart, and my axe to grind. I’ve never been one to forgive so I can’t forget myself. Stuck in the rut, locked behind a door not yet shut.

I come from these ill begotten words and an acceptance of their lack of meaning in a purpose I see reseeding.

I don’t live in the past just as I don’t own a time machine to visit the future. So I’ll never understand what it really means. Only to accept what I’ve done and the truth of where I really come from.

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