It's a disheveled ocean of ink and pencil lead
Dancing up and down the pages
And breaking the blue ink barriers
With timely rhymes
And attempted alliteration.
Sandwiched between my
Broken word formations
Are windows into other writer's souls.
Little paper windows attached by 68 cent tape.
These crinkled pages are the pages of my soul
Held together by inky expression.
I'm letting you read this because
I trust you with my soul.
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