Not that I want to go,
For any pleasure I think I might get,
I don't already know,
The anxiety before going in,
The rush of frigid cold,
Wondering why I'm here, once I am in,
Feeling as timid as a five-year-old,
Looking around, wondering when it's fine,
When I can come back out,
As if a length of time makes it worth it,
God, what's this all about?
Is this normal?
Denial of the facts,
Withstanding things you would prefer to not,
Because that is the way you're told to act?
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