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I Hate My Own Writing

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It rubs me raw, past the nerve
And letting things flow was always a problem for me
When nothing but a steady drumbeat kept me alive
It went bump bump bump pump
Bump
Thump
It is a steady drumbeat
Helping things to flow
Nerveless
Kind of funny how we get so nerveless
Kind of funny how we rub so raw
So raw
So nerveless
And who considers this poetry anyway?

I don’t know
If
I’ve always
Been
This way
But keeping myself down
Down to the bottom of everything cold
Is how I cope
I am told: no, no
I’m slapped on the hand
But beating myself while I’m sobbing is the best way to be sad

It’s sad how things get marked off the list
A cross out
A check off
A scribble





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