Awards
I have won all of
the awards
in the world
but I have not
proven them
to myself.
I find myself
itching for freedom
from everything,
including the broken
clock
that refuses to tell
time.
The reflection in
the hour glass
tells all the time
in the world,
that I am not old,
that I will not die,
that no one will
grieve for me.
Tornadoes spread
across the county;
some people die.
Others live.
I am not sure what
this means for me,
but awards will do
nothing for me
when I die.
I refuse to let that
happen.
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