I'm a fossil.
Thousands of years of guilt and shame have turned my bones into stone.
Cold, glinting artifacts that some scientist will take casts of in the future.
The worst kind of diamond, flawed and impure, fit for nothing but the most mundane of uses.
Aren't we all?
If this dancing, verbose doubt isn't shared by everyone, than what does that make me?
Overly dependent on figurative language, no doubt (and there's the word again).
Obsessed with myself, wishing to know myself, wishing I didn't feel so secure in who I am.
I know what I am.
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