Posted in Poetry

I can be

edgy as the next

raw and unedited

anger hidden -revolt

against the damned world.

Who would notice

the empty hands

so much going on in my head. So much so, i am sure you can hear it. I write and i second guess. Who am I to pretend? I hate that i do. I act like i dont. I still hate being seen. I never wanted to change. I try. I am contradictions galore. Still think i should be talking but i chain it inside. My hissing on paper.

Never ends. This vibration of syllables, clanging. Ripe oranges never tasted so sour. i think i’m ready. Then i think some more.

Done.

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