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Unheard
Ink layered upon white sheets
The colors meld, it all turns grey
My pulse is dropping, i feel weak
Do my efforts have any hearsay?
The weight of my words are too heavy
For on this night they seem so plain
I have no audience to entertain
So why must this writing be so messy?
I see authors in the limelight
With cheering crowds and clapping hands
And i keep writing in spite
Of the emptiness infront of the speaker's stand
Every road i turn i meet disapproval
I fake my words, they become pretentious
I do this all for removal
From the criticism relentless
But- no- no more of that
I will take of this painted mask
I will show my true self and my true words
Even if they remain unheard
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You need to work your way to the top, we all start with no audience