Buried deep inside of you,
Embedded in the egg that was finally found,
By your daddy's sperm,
Or in the sperm itself, or in both,
So that when you were finally born,
Or even to entertain you in the womb,
With some etherial form,
That grows just like your fingers and toes,
In reaction to your environment,
So that its clothed with your experiences,
What could have its creation meant?
Maybe, so you're alright,
Once you're faced with self-consciousness,
Just like, once you start walking,
You discover your balance.
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