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Hey, Ya’ll, It’s Me

Years of my life wasted. Frittered away—
spent mostly on the sofa, sometimes on the ceiling.

Betwixt and between, in-patient, out-patient.
Taking this toxin, that toxin any tox-a-tox toxin.

Whatever necessary to get my head screwed on right
so I could be me again.

Me. Now, that’s the cruelest joke of all. Who is me?
Who am I? The drugs are working and guess what?

I’m “normal”… define that why don't ya. As opposed
to abnormal it’s a good thing, I’m guessing.

But wait, if I was never really myself before, then who
the hell am I now? There’s your big freakin’ mystery.

Am I “finding” myself or “re-inventing” myself?
Maybe the miracle cure isn’t such a deal after all.

Nobody in my world knows who I am either.
Now that’s one helluva note.

I’m just the smiling stranger who showed up for dinner.
Fix her a plate and give her another pill.


words: Stacey Dye, USA (On a whim)
image: 'beyond the black windows' - bl pawelek, Wisconsin (homepage)


another pill: Memento Mori (#20)


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BluePrintReview - issue 26 - identity