Who I am


I am unambiguously weary,
Weary of the shrewdness;
To me, by the folks
Who are awashed;
By the dint of their tirades
For who I am

I wanted to survive,
In a mankind, palatial
with charismatic times;
Urbane countenances,
Savoring scarlet candor;
Comprehending that it's rare.

Instead, here I am
With the rueful voices
In my head, succumbing
to the wry; impassive.
Desiring my own,
Endearment.
Not the folk's; who will
Vaguely asses,
Who I am.

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