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Prison Cell

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I’ve been sitting in front of a blank computer screen for almost an hour, debating what to write and who to write it for and what to say. I need to be inspirational, it needs to have purpose. I really just want to write an honest update.

I want my writing to flow, to sound beautiful. To be like it used to be. Poetry oozing out of the corners of my mouth like the foam that stems from my dog’s mouth at dinnertime saying “please care for me”. I’m lost.

But here I am and I cannot write.

I find beauty in self expression yet I cannot seem to whisper a single word out of the comfort of my own thick pink lips.

My mind is dead and I am trapped in the shallow confinements of perfectionism.

I don’t feel myself anymore.

And that’s what scares me the most.

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The saddest part is that I’m not the girl I used to be. I’m not someone that I recognize. I mourn the death of my shadow. I cannot find the feet from which these legs grew from. Where is the strength, the limbs of the tree that rooted deeply in the ground? I’m lost, floating. Like a snowflake on a dark November night lost and alone yet surrounded by billions. So numerous that my individual name is invisible.

I don’t know where I’m going but I know where I’ve gone. And going backwards is exhausting yet falling down is so much farther. Can I just close my eyes and stay put?

But the universe keeps spinning and I keep getting spun. No rest for the wicked or the pure at heart. So I keep going. Onwards and upwards my friend.

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