A poem about the delicate nature of identity.

Nothing is ever lost since nothing is ever ours.

But the thirst.

We grasp on to family for a sense of grounding,

Nationality for a sense of pride,

Community for a sense of belonging,

And sex for the sake of feeling whole again.

All our lives spent holding on to a branch that is bound to snap.

Nothing but the pull of gravity belongs to us.

Freedom is leaning into the fall, Spreading your arms out wide.

Seeing life flash before your eyes, And fully savouring the fleeting moment,

Of being truly human.

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