My Soul in Ink

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I write
For myself
To be free
Because I cant paint
Or make music
Or even sing very good
I have too many secrets
To keep to myself
That can spill out
Through my words
Like dark stains
On the white cloth
Of the society
That wants
My secrets,
Just not the ones
That cast shadows
On their perfect
World
That I seem to be immune to
I want to live
With them
not through
The world
But through
Paper and ink
I write to create
Something beautiful
In a world
Where beauty
Only seems to have
One
Definition





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