'writing'

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She cried as she slashed at her skin, It wasn’t the razor that hurt her but the feeling of sin. She wished she didn’t have to do this, But how else would she feel bliss?  
You've got  to work hard at school, Everyone used to say, It's your future, You tool, Leave me alone, get away.   Growing up, Chaos, Anxiety was the norm of the day,
i am my poetry every line, every stanza is the story of me   you can feel my pain rhyming to help keep me sane   eloquence is the technique to make life make sense
Some learn between the lines Some written neatly with ink Or disheveled With the liquid of the inner soul Hidden within the depths of our minds
The monomyth is this: the unknown will callThe monomyth is this: when the men come, light yourself on fireThe monomyth is this: dream.
I am not a beautiful writer. My words do not always flow right; Sound right; Feel right. I know what I think, but putting words on a page-- That is something I do not always know how to do.
Poetry kept her safe; Poetry kept her sane. When words pile up within her brain and Threaten to explode, She turned to ink and paper. Poetry gave her comfort; Poetry gave her an escape.
Writing is fun, its relaxing but yet so enticing. Writing can take you places that you've never been before if you just allow the flow of the pen to glade onto the plain white paper. Writing is drama, it's intriguing and demanding.
A young man sits, questioning his computer screen What shall he write? A tale of malice, malevolence and wallow? Or a jovial story, a tad off-putting?
 As anyone knows, everything depends on the teacher and his approach to the teaching process. Interest in the subject, the load on the students, the successful passing of the test and the exam - all this is determined by the teacher.
High school and college became stressful and I began to doubt myself We got a new president and as a minority I began to fear the future, itself
Feel the cold against your skin, The want of something warm to burrow in, Today wasn’t a good day, was it?   I know you want to hide,
When I’m down And feel like sinking into the ground I write   The words ebb and flow With my worries With my dreams  
I greet the day still sleepy in a way waving towards the bright sun. While others sog, and slouch out of bed  I greet the moring determind to get ahead. Nine to five with no end in sight is what others do.
Writing, for me was always a form of controversy. I am set to be a doctor, a researcher, a doer of good.   But books and language set me apart. Gave me wings, let me escape.
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