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Sitting here staring at this blank page,
Wondering what to write.
The ideas flow through me like
Water flows through a riverbed after a rainstorm.
Free to flow and shape itself,
Morph into any form it desires.
Writing is my outlet,
Words my tools.
Why is it so hard to put it here where it matters?
Someone once told me;
“Write a poem, it is the difference
Between watching the sun set and reading about a sunset.”

Then why is it so hard?

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