Writing is my escape.
Not everything I write is real.
Not everything I write is an imagination.
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Crammed in jars of jam I once relished, Tucked inside old classics I devoured, Hot-glued to the scraps I called art, Hidden behind the brochures of dreams, I was once someone who had it all figured out Only to realize the beauty in breaking in starting all over again!
We are afraid of feeling emotions that we are uncomfortable with. Mostly the ones we never learned to maneuver through or even acknowledge exist. Anything that pushes us out of our convenience or comfort areas will get a bad review. Here I am talking about art. Any form of art, literary, visual, or musical, will…
There is a house I long to see. A feeling I cannot retreat. The house is mine, all mine you see. There are flowers and bumblebees to please. Purple and yellow Blue and pink Red and white I am surrounded by so many, That no one can see. We take walks and naps while the…
Walking through the jungle of regrets; roots coiling on the limbs. Holding them tight with grit. I follow your voice that became the carrier of my soul. Words to some, Mantras to me. Crawling in swamp of mistakes; control no more. Grabbing mud in fists of desperation, I look to the hand to guide me…
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