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I carry the weight of my words on my back

My shoulders slumber,

I tumble.

My blades cut deep- edges and wrinkles,

I bleed.

I cringe.

It lingers.

I give up my name for a few pages;

I exchange  it for some inky utensils.

And I scream under hefty shackles

And the stillborn weight of my unsaid, unuttered, unarticulated utterances;

I shudder under undisclosed, unstructured, underconstruction sentences.

I scream and I say:

Let them cut my veins,

Let them rip my arteries,

Let them take a good look at my words

So they bow and kiss the majesty of their robe-

Of their own accord. 

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