Coward.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
=]

Submitted: July 11, 2009

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Submitted: July 11, 2009

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I find it odd how its so easy
To confide in a pen and paper
It’s too easy
Am I nothing more than a cowardly, trustless being?
There are so many people I have, that I could tell
But I always take the easy way out
Nothing ever changes except the stories
Only my notebook knows my secrets
And though I feel content being what I am
I always question myself
I constantly criticize my ways and my actions
It’s neither positive nor negative
Just a never-ending voice in the back of my head
It is always tearing me down
Which is probably why I am too fearful to conquer my fears
So maybe it’s better that I remain condemned to paper
So that this voice does not take over
So it stays contained
I’ve made it this long
It can’t be content criticizing me for much longer


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