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Spare the Rod

I do not waste my time
with things that do not want to be written.
 
Like angry schoolchildren
wanting to... demanding to
live in ignorance,
my writings like to stay
locked up in the bottom drawer
without coming back out.
And when I enter their domain
I am met with unabiding shrieks
attacking the light and asking
that it go away.
 
So I shut the door on them,
losing the desire to breath life.
 
And so I work,
always starting,
never finishing.
 
The pleasure of having written
is lost on me
because my poems,
short stories, essays, novellas, sentences
and words themselves
do not like being written.
 
Everything is against me.

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