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I Write because I Hate to Speak
I write because I hate to speak.
I write because no one can hear it.
I write because my mouth has been sewed shut,
by endless arguments,
I write to blend in,
to pretend I’m concentrating,
so no one will try to talk to me.
I write because he listens while I read to him.
I write to inspire the thoughts of his soul.
I write because my pencil
is so warm in my palm,
that it burns the tiny wrinkles
of my fingertips.
I write to wash away impurities,
to ask for forgiveness, and to seek council.
I write because letters are so beautiful,
curved, and unique.
I write to myself, reminders, and plans,
because for some reason
I think it will make my future structured.
I write in hope it will fix all my problems,
or give me the answers.
I write because it is organized and calming,
just like my blue and white pills
I take every morning.
I write because I seem nicer on paper,
in person, I fear you'll hate me.
In person, I’m not so sane.
I write because every day I’m reminded
Of how I bent my body backwards,
Attempting to please even the most ignorant.
I write because I really do despise my past,
and it really hasn't made me stronger,
like it has everyone else.
I write to remember,
so I will never forget.