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Nov 2011
Rudimentary trifling in creativity
Boiled down, frothy lines
Stumbled, broken relations.
Too much, too open,
Yet nothing is hidden between.
It’s not about the words
Stalky presentations mask what is meant
Overthought, underappreciated.
Expecting the praise, knowing the torment

Embarrassment.

I want the spaces.
**** the lines.
A blank page says more than a thousand full.
No thoughts, shot spark
Tired form, ugly flow.
She has no shame,
Takes no judgment
Jealous gawk,
Rooted fears,
Expression is the enemy
Lack of substance drives the ghost.
The Year
Written by
The Year
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