Deeply hidden in the back of my book
is where they’re all hidden where no one can look.
I get so FRUSTRATED
I haven’t a clue what to write-
fractured pieces of the thoughts lurk in my head every single night.
I am so afraid to pick up my pen-
or turn that crisp page,
because the moment I start I’ll be interminably engaged.
Once I begin, desperately I try to finish each piece,
vowing to somehow find my release.
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