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The Final Page

All the kids at school?
They say writing poetry must be easy; after all, so many words rhyme with ‘love you’.
If they, with fists covered in your blood, only knew.
An art of letting yourself flow into the page,
Of giving in to the forces that define human nature.
That, at its finest, is writing.

Who really cares about your writing?
Would they notice if you never showed up at school?
No. It’s only a human’s nature
To forget anything unimportant, like you.
Maybe you should just turn the page
And descend into your story you never knew.

Nonsense. Don’t tell me you never knew
Of the many anonymous writing
Their broken souls onto the final page
Of the old history textbook they stole from school
Little postscripts of life left for you
A product of nature.

Mocks the men who knew
About you
Sitting alone in the attic, writing
About the woes of school
Tear and bloodstains on every page.

The book’s final page
Grown into nature
Far away from the school
Where the first pages flew, they knew
All their writing
Inspired you.

It’s you,
This blown-away page,
A scorned piece of writing
Tossed around like trash by nature.
If she knew
What happens at school.

Writing is what kept you in school
Wither away, you, against your own nature
Maybe you should just turn the page and descend into your story you never knew.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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