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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Wannabe

A mirror attempts to tell me
what my heart knows intimately.
No one can see its burdens,
hidden happiness,
confusion that grew bigger.
I have no answer to what I am.
What have you become?

Do you know where you are?
If you can’t tell me,
if you don’t know,
be with me.
I’ll cover your shoulders,
because we have no answers
to the colors inside,
to the songs and dances,
to the play in a thousand rooms,
to the words
that pile up and disappear.

It is all we are,
and nothing of what we’ve become,
man or woman,
or ghost,
or perhaps children.
Children of the fog,
mist,
morning, day.
Children who listen and shout
and come running,
to whoever loves them,
holds them,
smiles and plays.

What have I become?
I think,
only myself grown bigger.
A bit of dust
as large as a universe,
learning to laugh and be afraid.
I’m just a kid,
trying to make it,
looking for a way home.

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