I’ve been surrounded by broken people
Is it because I’m a fixer?
Or is it because I need to be fixed?
Is it my imagination?
Or is it an unhealthy mix
Is that when I swing my door open
Who haven’t a door for themselves
Or ran out the door that they came from
Who’ve had the door shut behind them
Or burnt down the door once called ‘home’
As I stand, and serve as a cleric
Whilst inside I further fragment
Into nothing of my own
Without all of these fragile people
Would I have a subconscious purpose?
A reason not to walk alone
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Blog owner, singing/strumming person, word speaker, community arts make-happen-er, eco-baby.