

FutureFutureFuture
So many doors are opened, but there is yet so few I want to enter So many things I could become, but still not one I would like better Sometimes I wonder what will it be, whats my destiny, A writer, yes, maybe, but that again is still to see For the talent to play with words is not given to every; And among so many, who am I to claim it mine? With time passing by, always waiting for a sign, Yearning for my way to be revealed, my steps be guided I am consumed by doubt, uncertainty and the cruel possibility That I will never be anything good, Im always so scar
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