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Words
My calling
is not,
has never been,
and never will be;
to dance,
to sing,
to judge,
to play.
Never.
My way
has been
with words.
I speak,
I cry,
I rejoice,
I rage
through my words.
They've always
been there;
through love,
through comfort,
through sickness
and health,
through sadness,
through anger,
through pride,
and loss.
If these
words
have been with
me
for so long,
then
why?
Why
doesn't
this fear
and doubt
go
away?
Why can't
I solve
this
uneasiness?
With a
word
or
two
or
three?
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