What a journey ...
When you can't word what you feel
And you feel with such intensity
You wonder if you are even real
Or a byproduct of your own insanity
In the white pages I found my therapy
A place I could vent
Where my tears could fall
Where my mind could be absent
And let the heart pour it all
But I'm afraid, memory might fail
And make me forget of my way
There ain't a crumble trail
Nor the scent of the flowers of may
So I trapped the feelings in the pages
And the pages in a cover
It now resembles a book
Where I can find myself over
When I forget where to look
But I don't write poetry
So it's name whispers to me, as I sit
That the world has poetry
And I just write about it
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