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I feel like this whole other person, radically different thoughts feelings and opinions than the person everybody knows me as. Sometimes it's really clear to me, there are so few that I trust. I don't want anyone to know what I don't want them to. I censor so much of what I say, hiding so much of what's inside my head.
Thoughts- A little desk, at which sits An ageless person, Made out of mirrors To reflect all the volumes. Catching only fragments of whats there In it's many many mirrors. Neglecting some volumes for a while. Neglecting some forever. But day and night, they reflect the volumes And volumes And volumes They write at the little desk, in the Growing library Filled with all the volumes. Creativity- A rainbow of colors moving outward In a spiral, Until its ambitious tendrils Colorfully reach, extend onto the Plain White Walls Of the Dusty Old Museum.