Habits

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My fingers dance

with the ink in my hand.

My hand crawls

with a passionate rage.

The words scatter

all over the page.

Sometimes I write

to beat myself down—

(insecurities and mistakes. Regrets and tirades.)

But most times, I write

to wipe off my frown—

(Little moments and little smiles. My heart flutters and beats for miles.)

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