For hours on end,
I could sit and talk to you
About reality.
Or I can take the words
Of what is,
And build something new,
Something creative,
Something based on truth –
Mine, yours, or others –
But exaggerated,
Feelings not expressed
In the verbal repartee,
But the internal
Turmoils spewed
Onto the page,
Given life in a whole new way.
So, just because I write it,
Doesn’t mean that’s how it is,
It just means I’m
A different analysis.


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