I scribble my hopes
Aspirations and doubts
In this notebook
It's an open door
To the pain in my soul
The love in my heart
The dread in my mind
I can't help it
It's almost an addiction
The smell of ink on paper
Separates the geniuses
From the bittersweet fools
Like you and me
And though I may
Never be Poe or Thoreau
I can still leave
An anthology to my heart
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