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    READING POETRY
    Words which are not in my vocabulary
    Maybe from my blood and quill makes the magic
    A reason why I can still write poetry

    Reading others are too boring
    How selfish am I as I see myself
    But I keep writing for a reason
    Because I can't shut my own shelf

    Sadness betrayed me
    Cutting through my guts
    Like glass shards being thrown
    Hatred and all the ugly thoughts

    I never saw someones perspective
    Maybe some see this emotional
    But I always see it in a perpective
    Seeing it as a product of being rationally irrational

    My words swerve
    So I bit my tongue
    But it cut-off and went away
    Because of being wild and young

    One reason I write
    That of my veins that flow
    Is the ink I write for my expressions
    Because they can't get my dumb show

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