I’ve ever loved found it so hard
to like me? Have I romanticized
the past, since it’s the singular known,
while the future — infinite unknowns?
Could I be happy in the desert?
Were my mother still alive,
what would she chastise me for,
and would the person I am today even care?
Why do I get nervous when I see coworkers in public?
Does it matter what my bellybutton smells like,
or why, if I’m the only one sniffing?
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