January 3, 2012
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I remember when
my work was nothing.
Nothing more than a

s i l h o u t t e
of the writer I wanted
to be.
No one saw my work
by mine own

But that has changed.
My work is who I am.
Every story a bit of
my past.
My life, my essence,
an o p e n b o o k
for anyone who wishes
to read
and knows where to look.
My heart, it spills ink upon
these pages.
I write for me.
You read for you.
My work then is just
means to an end.

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