Instincts.

All I’ve learned
while living to survive
has left me cold
and difficult to revive.
The tools I’ve been given
are now simply weapons
to cut down the unknowing –
but they’re my only possessions.
I want to live precisely –
to fit in with those I see.
I want to play nicely
and to let goodness be
but every time I try
to behave as I should
my instincts pry
outside me, forcing me as I once would.
If I ever learn
how to see as you wish
will it be my turn
to be blind enough for bliss?

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