In the corner of my home
Tucked just behind
And to the left of the television
On an old rickety bookshelf
Between poetry and stories of vampires
And dragons and extraordinary lives
And entrepreneurship
Lie my forgotten words tucked between the pages of stained notebooks
On the edge of scrap pieces of papers
And on crumpled serviettes
I have made a life of writing words just for me
and they languish on a corner bookshelf
Calling me to pick them up again
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