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Oct 2018
no matter what i write i am not satisfied with the aftertaste in my mouth
my poetry is the worse type of aftermath  one to an unsolvable equation of life
a permanent discomfort in the way my words clump up together
never getting the point directly out
i’ve really started to hate my own writing all because of this self-doubt
the doubt of never being enough even in a few insignificant words on a screen
i’ve posted less more recently but i’ve still been writing just none of it seems worthy
Pure of Stars
Written by
Pure of Stars  16/F/i don’t know
(16/F/i don’t know)   
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