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A map

Mystics have revered

Throughout the centuries.

Oracles prophecy

The next disaster.

Witches give us potions

For various cures.

All in all

We only want guidance.

Assurances

That the future

Will be okay.

Yet no one,

Nostradamus included

Is right,

Because

Even though

Humans want a road map

To their own lives,

Everything

Is up for interpretation.

This poem included.

Mornings

Oh to be a cartoon character

who is allowed

Not to do them.

To be able to sleep all day.

Eat all the lasagna.

Be grumpy and not have to explain why.

Of course,

being a cartoon cat

would not be as exciting

since everything I do

warrants watching.

My Fault

I choose.

This is happening

because of me.

I decided.

So it is me

who is to blame.

Yet I feel no shame.

Because I am still fighting

that battle

which everyone ignores.

I am Depressed

and I choose to be late

because I can not find the energy

to get to where I am supposed to be.

So who is really at fault?

Me?

Or society that only see me as a failure?