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I cannot write,
I am not a writer.

Poetry does not flow from my pen.
Too much fear and worry
Pouring from invisible wounds.

My words do not roll off your tongue.
They spit and they sputter,
Leaving and acidic taste in your mouth.

I cannot write,
I am not a writer.

Beauty does not caress my verse.
Only ugliness clings to these words,
Wrapping you in my pain.

I do not paint vivid pictures.
But fragments of distorted images,
Twisting inside your mind.

I cannot write,
I am not a writer.

But I will write.
If not for you, than for me.
Because this is how I bleed.




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Comments

The following comments are for "Not A Writer"
by Reba

Reba,
Reba,

Nice to see you back, but while I like this piece it is a pack of lies. I have enjoyed your poetry for some time and words certainly 'flow off your pen! The sheer irony of this piece makes it beautiful.

Ivor

( Posted by: ivordavies [Member] On: April 13, 2005 )

write ,write not!
he he he ..pack of lies..like Ivor said..
It is very ironic and smart too!!

fairgrace

( Posted by: fairgrace [Member] On: April 13, 2005 )





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