Will Life Ever Make Sense?

I AM MY OWN

I am my own worst everything,
Much more than any enemy.
I store my lies in sterile jars,
Each labeled with the truth by hand.

I am my own best anything,
Misunderstood epitome
Of contradiction, marked by scars
That tell a truth few understand.

I search for meaning in the stars.
Is all this chance, or was it planned?

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