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I didn’t want to write this poem.
Believe me, I’m a marvelous writer,
but poetry chills my bones and frightens my brain.
I consider myself the best free-writer ever.
Free-writing with rules isn’t very easy.
But I’ll continue playing along with your heinous murder of my free spirit.
It is you who shall regret it in the end.
I don’t know what to write about now.
I’ll make it rhyme while I’m at it.
Easier for my brain to write.
Guidelines didn’t found a nation, you know.
Okay, maybe they did, but I should write about whatever I want.
This poem is going to awesome, no thanks to you.
I think it’s time you let us switch back to stories.