To My Poetry

A hand scribbles in a notebook surrounded by crumpled-up pieces of paper.

To my poetry
Page after page
Scrap after scrap
The trash bin fills with discarded words
You never seem to be worthy enough
My fingers ache from writing
I cannot connect with you
For I am so worried about what others might say
Word after word
Mistake after mistake
I try to grasp the words on the page as they fly away from me
Where is my voice
All on the ink I’m afraid it does not exist
But my passion does
So I write and write
Hoping for the next poem to be better than the last

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