What strokes me the most
Is much like what pokes at me
My conscience is about to draft me
Into a consciousness that takes
Me to levels
Without a real care of a reputation
I’m exhausted with being founded
In my desires that keep me grounded
I want to wake up and am taken
To depths only created by inception
That is also something
Rather touched on
My profession teases me into confession
What is true is also new
And sentimentally abashed
So I recover with feelings that keep
Me inside myself hoping to stream in
A current proactive with
What is concurrent with a religion
Of loving myself through it all
With strands of joy leading me
To my very own reception.
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