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It might be said:
They asked me to write with a free mind,
But a free mind impairs my ability to write.
It is merely the maze of rushing, running thoughts
Which guide my internal ideas to take flight.
A matrix of images, fluidity
Entranced through the whirl of shades
Much too vibrant to comprehend, to process,
And truly remind me of my own, estranged timidity.
For I am relatively grown, despite my
Simple inability to recognise the world of colours
Foreshadowing the guarded thoughts I secure
With much difficulty.
For my incompetence in containing rushed thoughts
Is consistently expressed
Through my most voluntary incentives,
To simply hold a pen and write down my mess.
She once said: "I need to really grab a hold of my thoughts more often; to hold a pen, and remove the uncoordinated trail of events embedded within my memory."
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