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blogspotlightLet me tell you folks something, this teenager writes like a young Slyvia Plath! Please, visit her for me. I promise you that you will be floored at how incredibly good her work is, not just the poem you see below. Let’s give a young writer some encouragement today! Many thanks

These Things I Write

All we have:
words fall out like loose teeth,
slip out of swollen mouths,
cut and bend and bleed
striking discord with numbed minds.
No purpose,
only hollow dreams;
no end in sight.
All we have are dusty roads
and crooked street signs,
full graveyards,
hopes shredded into fine fragments of scepticism,
semi-muses in irrelevant poetry,
written in waves of profound emotion,
cut back and butchered
over and over again;
dreamlike characters on movie screens
and books with broken spines
perused with broken hearts:
all paralysed.
All we have are too many words unknown,
too many forgotten,
too many people
suspected of our crimes,
too many abandoned
in a distant foggy past.
All we have is reality,
understood and fought against,
futile struggles as we trudge along.
Ordinary people with shattered dreams.
No end in sight.

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