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May 2016
I pick up my pen and I scream into the paper. I cut the pages and pull out the pain that is in my soul. I tear at the fabric of the parchment. I cry in each word. I want to know that I am received. I want to know that I am heard. I write and post, and then wait. Sometimes if feels like ages before someone likes or hates what I have said. I care not if they love or hate me, I just want to know does anyone hear me.
James M Vines
Written by
James M Vines  50/M/Atlanta Georgia
(50/M/Atlanta Georgia)   
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