The words that are not my own

The words that are not my own

We dressed ourselves in words,
someone elses threads of thought,
speeches…
hanging in the air,
soon getting ready for plucking.
We weaved these together,
in (heartbreaking) hope,
that they would
become our very own.

But how can what is always others
still be ourselves?
Welllllll…
Isn’t there some small part
that we all share….?
You know, that little something—called LIFE
or even just being alive.
(even that infamous chestpump of ours).
A-one, and a-two.
Most of us still know
how to listen (to others)
if only
a small part of what they say
is ever really heard
beyond these few words.

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