Mess

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There was a time when I wasn't afraid of letting my words flow, when I would allow myself to fall into a trance guided by my own bubbling emotions. Now, I stare at the screen, at the keyboard. Uncertain, doubtful.
   Why is it that I can't yell or scream anymore? My lips are sealed and my voice is never to be heard again.
   My eyes well up but the tears won't drop, oh, no they won't. Must it be beautiful? Can't it just be honest? Honestly, brute, careless. I'm a mess, that's all I am. All I've ever been! A mess.
   I can't bring myself to write about you, about how you unarm me with just a tender glance and a whisper.  "My love" you say, so sweet, so tender, I can't look away.
    Why? Why Why? I'm only but a mess. Someone who forgot how to write, how to express, and was all too interested in how to impress...so, are you? Impressed? To see my art of tangled words on a screen...a mess, simply a mess.

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