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I am a list              - notes on a page              - paint with these colors              - do what she says              - reduced to letters on paper                                                                                           My childish whimsy, my squiggles and stars                                                            are reduced to straight lines                                                                           and I feel little                                                                             once again                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      *you are no list, your eyes scream of freedom                         and mine are mere lines on the page               - a pristine poet               - a golden list               - I am wax               - mouldable               - weak               - an idol               - created from a weak poets' prose
0
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC
What have I become?
I am a list              - notes on a page              - paint with these colors              - do what she says              - reduced to letters on paper                                                                                           My childish whimsy, my squiggles and stars                                                            are reduced to straight lines                                                                           and I feel little                                                                             once again                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      *you are no list, your eyes scream of freedom                         and mine are mere lines on the page               - a pristine poet               - a golden list               - I am wax               - mouldable               - weak               - an idol               - created from a weak poets' prose
I used to feel free, but I am once again trapped..
DrippingWatercolors
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Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 2:43 PM UTC
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