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Feb 2015
The smell of pine trees in the air is fresh
Fresher than a babies face as
it takes its first breath
The sky above me houses mounds of clouds but
None have cried yet; how strange.

There has been a cloud over my head for days it seems
The storm inside me washed my soul clean
But I'm still at war with this piece of myself
I walk, in part, to find peace of mind.

My feet take me deep into the forest
Where I'm faced with two paths: right or left
I can't help but think of how clichΓ© this is and
Instead I trek through the thicket in between.

My indecision is what leads me
I never take option one, two, or even three
I make my own, yet
Here I am at a crossroads.

"Just Go Your Own Way" is easy to say
Yet here I stay
In the middle of the forest
Pining away.
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