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Welcome to Beth's Ballroom
Writer's Block
The words fill my soul
But my hand is lame
Emotion overwhelms me
Joy, happiness, pain.
Frustration at incompetence
My heart trapped inside
A dove in a rusty cage
Slowly it will die.
Why do I do this?
The thoughts in my mind flow
It is the words on paper
The words I do not know.
To show this failure
Would be a wretched crime
So it will be a secret
This silly little rhyme.
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