Being me

Being me I travel the world, uncluttered I see the smallest expression,

Very few are real … Some pretentious … Some in tune to match with others,

Some live in fantasy and some don’t simply care.

Being me I ask myself, “Why do I see so clearly through a cluttered mind?”

The cluttered mind pretend to be happy, they swallow the unreal without a thought.

Being me I ask myself, “Why am I not among them? …  For it is very easy to lie in clutter.

End 

                                                     

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