Sense Of Self

I was the first one awake,/and they delivered me,/to a little cold blue hell/of a cold grey dawn./I was admonished,/to fight inside the doghouse,/ as if there were no answers/just stumbling babies./I was dying for answers,/I drank from a loving cup,/I listened for aircraft, overhead,/the same way I used to/ I listened to freight trains passing/with no working memory,/I knew to portray myself as useful./I bled in my blue womb without knowing it,/ I was overjoyed, to land on the pavement,/I let others carry my burdens;/my movements were sacred/in a house of loose secrets I could end the arrangement./My code became childlike,/known to a few, they sweat like culprits,/I bought my ikons to them,/so that they would owe me

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