in time time my mind refuse to think
my mind sometimes fail to conceive
because the heart refuse to believe
poems have said what I refuse to say
and put my black and white to gray
in time your emotions are on control
in every word you wrote instead of growl
I feel like my writing is the same
as it is an instrument to keep me sane
in the days my pain is felt
this is my cry for help
two hundred works from my start
I still stay with my heart apart
Did I never grow as a writer?
or even grow as a person?
I guess life never gets easier
it always have to be hard for a reason
I guess in face of all rejection
you never really stand up
someday all of this will come in to fruition
so you just have to keep your face up
because you will be okay someday
but not today
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