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I long to know what I'm up against, my competition, those who will win silver cups and accolades while I sit longingly and wait those whose words will find the ordered spaces of a published piece and fall in place as if meant to be. At the selling table I exchange dollars for a glimpse into their thoughts. What I see does not surprise me, confirming what I knew already. Their words caress the page and make it smile. Their screams slash it and make a gaping hole through which pour their souls. Sounding weak and foolish, my own words echo in my head. I want to take them back, embarrassed that I ever set them down and gave them to be judged.
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Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
Writers' Contest
I long to know what I'm up against, my competition, those who will win silver cups and accolades while I sit longingly and wait those whose words will find the ordered spaces of a published piece and fall in place as if meant to be. At the selling table I exchange dollars for a glimpse into their thoughts. What I see does not surprise me, confirming what I knew already. Their words caress the page and make it smile. Their screams slash it and make a gaping hole through which pour their souls. Sounding weak and foolish, my own words echo in my head. I want to take them back, embarrassed that I ever set them down and gave them to be judged.
WingedPoet
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Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
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