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Writer's picturesawyer kurtenbach

my words don't work

why do i let the world get to me?

their claws are sharp. i thought my mind was sharper;

but i suppose one can only reach so far before getting bitten.

i am trapped,

trapped in a cage sealed with silence and broken sentences,

a prison of my own design.

my wings were large and strong once.

they beat furiously, words spilling off my feathers like water, but i clipped them.

i took the scissors they gave me and watched

as my voice floated gently away in the breeze.

why do i let the world get to me?

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