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For Now It Dissapoints

I don't want to write
for I do not know how.

It's a skill I have
yet to master.
I pour my soul
into words.
They dance across
the page.
But not in the way
I wanted.
I play with words
to try and tell you a story.
To show you myself,
but the message
gets distorted.

I don't know how
to write.

People, friends, and strangers
tell me I have talent.
They enjoy the dance my words preform.

Yet sometimes...
What they see
is not what I
intended.

My flow is off.
The meters wrong.
I'm a tough critic.
The toughest my writing will encounter.

In the future it will make me great.
For now it disappoints.



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