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So many years
Feeling bad about myself
Berating my being
For being
Fundamentally flawed
Fragmented
Irreparable

I wish someone had noticed
Me
Pulling the hair off of my head
Me
Flailing about
Like a trout
Out of water
Me
Stepping on
All of the rakes
Unintentionally
But also
Sometimes
Fully aware
Of where
They were lurking in the grass

And I wish they’d said
To me
Stop
Stop
Stop.
Breathe.
Look around.
You’re ok.
You’re ok.
You’re beautiful
And young
And you couldn’t possibly know
How quickly time runs away.
So stop.
Stop saying
What’s wrong with me?!
You can stop
Because I’m here
To tell you.

What is wrong
With you
Is
That life
Fooled you
Into thinking
That there’s something wrong
With you.
Unintentionally reposted, slightly modified version of a poem I’d posted earlier that day. Typical mistake for me. I’m certain I will do it again.
(whose video powerfully, profoundly, and
positively affected this southeastern residing
Pennsylvania papa)!

Afflicted with Cystic Fibrosis since her birth
contagious exuberance, gung-**,
     infectious jubilance noah dearth
which eye opening (then tearing)
     podcast link sent tummy
     FaceBook account,
    she distilled and
     didst poignantly blog the

     purpose driven life,
     no matter...hmm...
     her existential time
nearing thee finis
     line on planet Earth
though upworthy defying
     deathly clasp of grim reaper,
     who scythe lent

   lee doth await
she (titled lass of poem) established
     a substantial supportive network,
     via such an up
     beat aura, charisma,
     persona, et cetera create
ting global bond sans,
     world wide web, aye equate
chance lucky opportunity

     to witness airily especial
     and gutsy acceptance
     of her (congenital) grim fate
while this healthy
     (as an oxymoron) lix
     spit tilling chap doth hate
sweaty palms (a minor,
     though tolerable inconvenience)

     versus being irate
at an accursed disease
     still no cure as of late,
yet...state of
     the art revolutionary treatments
     provide longevity, and... YES
     possibility to discover a mate
though consigning severe limitations

but...WOW, that girl (unknown
     til yesterday) doth narrate
positivity, which amazing
     will power didst permeate,

within thine noggin
     triggering sincere flowing tears
     bursting forth at an unstoppable rate
hence this attempted rye
     ming livingsocial tribute
     to go for broke
     esprit de corps elan trait
completing a bucket list
    while eternal sleep will wait!
There once was a God
His name was Tempus
He controlled all time
But he had just one sorrow
While he could make time move however he wanted,
He himself had no concept of time.
He did not know what he was creating,
How it was created,
Or what it could do.
So there he sat,
Floating in space,
Wondering to himself,
"What am I doing here?"
"Why do I exist?"
So, they say,
Tempus is still in space
Creating time, floating around
With no limit, no bound.
For those who don't know, "tempus" is Latin for "time".

— The End —