The Writer

I fret the blank page.
I lean on the oddities.

My freedom comes by the swipe of a lead pencil.
My heart beats to the rhythm of my words
As they briskly flow across the mysteries of the blank page.

By dawns early light,
I'll be the late moon light night.

Maleficent and magnificence's
Bleed onto my blank surfaces.
My mind becomes my tales,
My tales become my mind.

I am the writer.
I am the tale.

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