What would you do
if you were all alone
forever?
What would you do with two
tablespoons of gigantic, supercondensed collective intergenerational trauma? Would you sever
yourself from everything?
From rhyme? From reason? From someone else who has never
known peace?
And now never will.
Would you be kind enough to yourself to let go, and feel
for who is left behind, drowning in the tides?
Who is left inside.
Who was right about your self-regard,
your flaming, breaking creole heart.
Your Portuguese-Eurasian pseudo-quasi-restart.
Destiny is easy. Even if you're smart.
It's the Fates that you have to deal with.
Vulnerability, as it were,
is sometimes impossibly hard.
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