I have found that I am fond of the ability to make art with words; to form poems with emotions that can reach within someone and make them feel something. Yet I have found myself at times, in need of quality writing, and rummaging through othersβ work to find synonyms for my feelings. I know I am able to create my own; more true to me. The problem is simply that everyone else' thoughts seems more beautiful to me. And maybe that's just another depiction of our common inability to see the beauty within ourselves.
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