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Written by: Brooke Mitchell

I think in poetry. I am equal to the author that composed me./ Casting me into a pool of 
poetical prose;/ the stench of rhymes seeps up my nose/ enveloping my head and 
marinating my mind in a stew of thick, inspired thought./ And as this mixture penetrates the 
center of my brain, words pour from my mouth like a storm of much needed rain.