When you told me to stop writing

Did you know you were asking me to stop breathing as well?

 

It was like you were ripping out my veins

Draining me of blood

And removing my oxygen all at once?

 

If you take my pen and paper

I am no longer the poet in the streets

I am no longer an artist

Or a soul

 

I turn into one of you

 

It is something in which I do not wish to be

You are an ordinary human being

But I am a poet, a writer, a new soul

 

You can not take away my pen and paper

And expect me to keep on living

That pen and paper is my life

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