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A Poem About the Urge To Kill Our Own Creativity

The Voices

She has voices in her head 
They wish her creativity dead 
She wishes to the tree 
The desire to set them free 

To create 
Without the feelings of inner hate 
To paint 
Without the demons lying in wait 

She wishes to live creatively 
To dance amongst the flowers like the humming bee 
To breathe in fresh air 
But she doesn’t dare

Instead she lives in a dark place 
There’s no lover to gift her with an embrace 
She’s alone 
In a place, she feels she can’t call home 

Darkness reigns 
In her heart there is pain 
The will to express 
Yet she only permits herself a new dress 

She wishes to the wishing tree 
Please tree “let me be me”
What she can't see
The only thing that’s stopping her, is she 

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