i was walking alone one night in the daylight and with friends
i was feeling bad about how good it felt be alive
a still winds rustles the leaves off dead trees
beautiful imagery not worth describing,
certain things with general qualities
i begin the day by falling asleep
my poetry: criticized for a lack of feeling
losing my faith, i start to believe in God
recent rejection makes me fear future connections w others
my intuition is to resent my environment
idealize embryonic life within vacuum
causation consigned as variables to problematic experiments of growth
smooth and strangely i commit ceaseless seeming amounts of mistakes
publishers and friends ignore my work to their disbenefit
ppl once close now mistake apprehension for intimacy
to allow others to influence my being seems okay, yet bad
being so possessive of one's life
seems fearful to want something that badly not taken away
lol for a writer i am terrible at putting this into words
i have only been able to distinct love through long term,
valuable experiences happening in my periphery
first, i thought nothing i believed matter
now, i believe everything matters
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