I wouldn't know how to start
Being
Truly in the world
Instead of alongside it
A diligent spectator
Swallowing truths as if they belonged to me
Swathed in sympathy and couched in complacence
With the world's calculated demands
Unwilling
To step inside the world's Me as Myself
Rather
Than one of the many assigned identities
Sheathed within the time and place of chance's choosing
Crudely camouflaged
Knowing that to start
Being
Would remove the shroud
And reveal
Nothing
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