Like a cat
longing for more, of which there is no vacancy
a futile hope
that I know will be better unfulfilled
I have always been good at not being greedy for things I cannot have
a low drive, unambitious
the tragedy is the unsure feelings about things others seem so sure about
unsure if I really want something
or if I tell myself I do not want the things I will likely be unable to achieve
training myself to avoid disappointment
yet, I cannot seem to leave this lonely place
a place with an unknown location, its whereabouts hidden
its contents shamefully squandered
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