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Poets
A pencil and a pen.
A note card, notebook or wall
I write
Wherever I need to.
Whenever I have to.
To get my point across.
To feel my point.
To feel the structure,
And enjoy the stroke and curve of this pen.
I write for no one else.
I write for my freedom.
I write for the sake of it.
For the sake of pain.
And my mercy.
And I'm tired.
I'm tired of writing.
I'm tired of writing about flowers.
And love.
And doves.
And the zoo.
I went to the zoo.
And the beach.
How the sand felt on my feet.
And I'm tired of the a rhyme scheme.
I'm tired of Martin Luther King.
I'm tired of Bin Laden.
I'm tired of the Constitution.
I'm tired of pollution.
I'm tired of the same old stuff you hear back to back.
Every year so you won't get out of wack.
I write because I am happy.
I write because I am free.
I don't write stories.
I write lines that are so fine to the naked eye.
And is so short that others can bare to look at the spacing and the words and the truth and the youth behind these words on this paper that explain the unexplainable feelings of human nature and help the unhelped and feed the unfed and feel the unfelt and express the colours of life beyond the UV spectrum and the colours of the souls I am touching by just writing these few shorts lines on this paper that hold nothing but a key to the lock of nature and the frontal lobe of the cerebrum.
I.
Am.
These.
Words.
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