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I write these poems
To make up for the empty slogans
that gassed me up and left me choking
I held too much in, now outspoken
is how I am, now my mind is open
I opened a bookand a hand fell out.I turned a pageand heard a shout:'I'm lost in a wood;my mother's no good.'I couldn't bear to look
The space is a friend.I tell it what hurts.
I tell it why I'm not good.The space is a friend.I tell it the bother I'm in.It won't let me tell lies.