I don’t belong…

I don’t belong 
not there or here either…
Sure I write a few words
string together broken
bits and baubles
but it’s juvenile
generic
hardly fluid
missing depth
lacking substance
I’m questioning 
everything 
I’ve ever written…
painstakingly admit 
like in many other areas of 
my life I can’t quite
grasp extraordinary
like sand 
it slips through my fingers 
I shouldn’t be penning and pencilling 
I don’t belong here with them
not really…
not here
or there
or anywhere
so why am I here?
Why do I still bother?
I hold on to vapor…

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