I am a writer, therefore I write. As a writer I enjoy writing poetry. Here is a poem that may or may not be good.
My muscles protest,
I grow weary
From constant
Struggle.
Sleep is too eager
Or reluctant;
Bipolar
Lover.
I fear a venture
Into my mind,
Covering,
My truth.
I am held
Away,
Far away,
In this cage
Made of flesh
And fool.
(That’s my notebook with my woodburned Deathly Hallows symbol.)
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