Aware of self's obtuseness, holding captive our very use and purpose, our essence once recognized, now occluded by semblance and facade mainly the ones toward self, where I'm not good enough for what exactly is left unknown, choosing to reside ever in a state of lack. For why would one put forth so much effort to be and be made known? It's far easier to stay hidden behind stones thrown. We aren't meant to traverse this path in isolation, into seclusion