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Purpose not written in palm,
I never complained.
Heavens gave me tilted scales,
I just rotated the hinge.

Oh, my, how it beat me up!
Heretic, lewd, unstable;
An existential crisis.
It beats me, really!

Never had things,
Never complained.
Rolled my sleeves up
For a loaf of bread.

Oh, my, how they eat me up!
Abnormal, weirdo, threat.
Complicate a simple life
By pretending to understand.

So I lock away my soft self,
And fiddle with spidery thoughts;
If heavens subsidized sin,
Who would I kill?

Self!

Herbert Chakurangeyi

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