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Word Count: 553
Untitled I do not profess to be a writer therefore I must search through my thoughts painstakingly I am given the world to write about yet I can think only of my mother I do not think of the happier times instead it is misery that I can clearly envision My mother was the very fiber of our family I was there while diabetes weakened her Her sight was all but gone and her strides were reduced to a stutter Yes I can narrate this tragedy because I can remember the smallest details I can retell the words that were spoken and the sights that were seen It has come to life so now I will write The pen flows easily and many words have been written The writings are a scribble since they try to keep up with my thoughts I will not worry about structure until I empty my head The ink grows darker on the paper now for with every word the passion grows The differences in emotions start to ricochet in my head and they are certain to collide I must stop this Why would I choose to write of such an awful event I must be able to choose another topic My mind has become vacant of any new ideas and I am obsessed with this one story alone What kind of trickery is this You steal my thoughts and I cannot stop you You are mere paper and ink I can crumble you with one hand and I can toss you aside This I know to be true as I look to the overflowing wastebasket You cannot exist without me yet you are the one in control How is it you wield such a power My notebook is filling although something is lacking The words you prescribe do not feel their intent You would have me tell of our vigil and my fathers pain
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