There’s always some beat up old hoodie

with stains on it and patches of fuzz

That you can’t live without,

some torn up Teddy Bear

with stuffing overflowing

some nubby blanket

some shirt two sizes too small

that never gets discarded

but will never be worn again,

because of the neural maps of connection made,

the skins of identities shed,

yet never released into the void of not knowing

who you will be without training wheels.



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