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Maybe I'm just being pessimistic.

I almost want to apologise for my lack of writing.

 

I go for months, years.

 

I try to be healthy,

To change my poetry into something

 

"Productive."

 

I always come back.

 

Something about it,

Being honest with myself.

 

No, I'm not okay.

 

For that brief time,

Where I am creative,

Happy,

 

Allowed to be whoever I am.

 

Before I pretend that this moment

Never existed.

 

Before I pretend I'm okay again.

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Written by
No_one
Published
Apr 12, 2021
Lines·Words
16·71
Notes

Before I have to be something other than a broken mind trapped in a useless existence.

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