To be Heard Slam Contest

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sometimes I wonder exactly where I'm going or what I'm doing or even will I be here tomorrow there's no promise and that scares me so bad and that one time I fell in front of all of my friends and they laughed and why am I so stupid they were ter
I write for the words, for the thrill of letters pouring onto the page, the power of creation, of formation.
Constant pulsating masses,bring bile to a boil. reality closes in,hot, salty acid blurrs into a trickle. Repulsive pounding causes a sway,placid beauty is shaking.
Obscurity is present in the poet's verbose art, Ink stained fingers prove more than a swift hand, For beneath the elegant, intertwined ideas, Lies a bleeding heart beating out each command.
A hurtful past can break someone pretty good. It can shatter them to pieces, Creating a mean heart in a child Destined to be misunderstood.   It can create a barrier to the world,
There is a river inside of me, It always flows, impossibly deep As it holds all I can be My dreams, my passions, memories The water is cold; It chills my bones No one knows where it flows, 
In the greatest strings of logic, and the most concise and thought out stretches of time, where do I stand? Continuity, Four, five, six, three, When I die, are bones all that are left of me? Immortal,
I have memories of past lives sewn inside my brain They come rushing at me in the night like an oncoming train. In between sleep and awake is where I most feel at home I drown in my thoughts--
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