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My Shit Poetry
I would much rather stare at a blank page
Than read the shit poetry I write. Everything is
Lost in translation, coagulated
And dry, I write this. A formulaic
Thought is forgotten and skewed, I can't
Explain this. Head in my hands, anger through
My veins, despair and aggravation, this
Is what my shit poetry creates for me?
Or is this despair and aggravation why
I write this shit poetry of mine?
poem
by
Ryan Sanders
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