I am too conscious
of the fabric from which I was made.
It does not prepare me;
I was cut so thin.
Perhaps I could not have taken
my inheritance of dissatisfaction;
all the legacies I have been left
in the margins of error
of these testaments.
But I have, and so it goes.
I am a gap in the generation
my young empty heart
a vessel so long filled
with expectation.
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