Should I talk with my arms outstretched
or sing with bare feet?
Should I write by candlelight and then discard the sheet,
With which I ponder despite inevitable defeat.
I have no definitive ideas regarding my path or vocation, and
have little belief in self-innovation.
Do I like who I am?
Who am I?
Should I ask you?
Will you answer?
Does it matter?
I guess not.
The world is both too small and too big for such questions, and yet
is both too short and too long to avoid them.
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