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About This Poem
The Mountain of Self Measure
I scramble up the jagged rocks,
on my way to the peak of this mountain top.
A self-given measuring stick.
Toppling back, I fear I will fall.
Barely hanging onto this rock.
Hardly enough strength to carry on.
Bruised.
Broken.
Beaten down.
A gaping hole of nothing opens under me,
as I stare below me.
Reaching, blindly seeking for the next foothold.
Scraping my way,
my hands feel like they are bloody and raw.
Trying to find my way to the top of that
formidable mountain top.
Just to see if I measure up!
GypsyofEssence
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