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Sometimes the words come easy with an instant consent arranging themselves neatly that sweet spot in my mind of no resistance not nauseas yet Sometimes the words are not so agreeable intent on staying unspeakable spurting and in a nonsensical surge But i cannot polish dirt into crystal The result: forced rhymes syllables in broken time But the worst are the words which crawl when my mind has set to stall And all i have to show for it: excessive words that won't fit Thoughts i can't contain yet can't explain Repeating the same thing (but with different words) over and over again Maybe i've been mistaken, then I'm idle in the brain and full of empty Crumpled up poetry strewn about me like confetti And at the end of it all feeling too much exposure My mind, a tube of toothpaste folded six times over Now i'm choking and holding my waist from the nightly nausea and chain-smoking aftertaste Rushing to lock the door, and head for the store to buy me some more goddamn toothpaste

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 6/11/2018 12:10:00 PM
The way you describe it, we who class ourselves as poets can emphasise.I for one have been there many times.Cleverly put.
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