The Pain That Comes With Being A Writer

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Why did I stop?
Because the pain of rejection was so great
Because my feelings were a raging storm of pain
Because every emotion felt like self-hate

I wanted to be ordinary
A doctor
A lawyer
A data analyst

When I went into the attic and drug the papers out again
The dust blew in my face
The memories grasped me by the neck
Coiled around my ankles
Dragged me to the pencil
Forced me to write

Open my heart
Open my veins
All the hurt
All the pain

The storms came flooding back again
I asked them to read
To believe
They scoffed and ignored

I cried I lamented
I revised again and again
They’ll find me here when I’m dead
And worship these words
As I have emptied the last of my pain

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