Paper

I had a clean sheet of paper until i started writing.
Writing on my mind that is not a clean sheet of paper.
My mind is a postcard sent to everyone that listens,
confirming my weaknesses, confirming my emptiness.
Covering it up with paper.
Paper with writing,
paper with different languages,
no one can understand.
Not even myself.
I fear the others, I fear myself, and I fear self-destruction.
I know paper, I see paper, I write-
on paper.

by Kathryn Cox

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