Simple

I’ve written by now more than two dozen pieces

A lot of them I’d admit, I’ve thought through especially the ones I’ve written as I got older

But in my early adolescent years, the years when writing was my escape… I didn’t think through most of my work

My work flowed through me

I felt every pain, and with every pain that I felt, I wrote

I bled love and with every drop, I wrote

I wrote until I was out of breath, panting

Trying to catch my breath because every word I wrote drew out the very life that was within me

Unto this blank piece of paper that within minutes, became the locket to my heart

Those pieces may not be the most sophisticated of the lot, but they’re the most pure, the most raw, the most true

And I love those the most

And I understand why they say simple goes a long way

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