I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
I write,
words appearing.
I write,
meaning endearing.
I write,
hope nearing.
I write,
not fearing.
I write,
I write,
I write.
I want to hold
Both a pen and a sword,
To find struggle within my words,
To make pain drip from the ink,
Trickling onto my palms,
Beauty isn't perfection
It isn't when you look like a model
For a fancy brand;
It is rooted in your heart,
Golden sprouts peaking from the glands,
Little silver blossoms opening,
Proudly standing tall,
I have a dream
Of holding a book in my hands,
Running my fingers over the pages,
Crisp and fresh,
The white only lasting an inch
Or two,
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