The lines on my notebook paper stare at me.
The taunt me with their uniformity.
The stand firm, guardians of distance, dictating
Exactly how much room I have to write my words.
What If I break these lines?
Writing is not about convention
But about conviction.
My heart should be so connected to my pen
That it hurts to stop.
The thing about lines is
They can't feel.
Words can.
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