"My" Journal

January 19, 2012
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Is it really what I make it?
My journal
Like a therapist
Meant to be filled with
My thoughts,
My feelings,
My ideas
With the ability to walk the pages freely
But its not, its organized
By someone outside of my head
Manipulating me.
The puppeteer
Lives,
Breathes,
Feeds,
Prospers,
Vicariously through its slave.
Wishing he could be the star,
Wishing the ideas were his,
With nothing but wishes
He cordially invites them to write
Breaking their phalanges
He presses on.





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