Here I am devoid of trauma
Waiting for it
All my troubles
The smallest part of anthing
That is real

The things that I let
Hold me from the strain
Would hold water
But not hearty broth

We are afroth
With simplistic hinderence
We are alive
Cultivating anger, passion
From small discrepancies
In our superiority

This word and not that
Ascribing universal truth
From a devided
One planet species

Thinking true and high
But still arguing
As if the two were
simultaneously possible.