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Why I Stopped Writing

Neil Newton N.


Someone asked me,

Why I stopped writing.

I looked them

Dead in the eye and asked,

Give me a reason.

A reason to write.

I was met with silence.

For they know not

Why I stopped.

and they don't care.

They know not what goes on

Inside my head,

Every time I sit down 

To write.

They only know to mock

And pick on

Those who transform

Emotions to words,

Feelings to writings,

A state of mind to

A piece of parchment.

They did not ask me

Out of concern

On why I stopped.

They ask, because they're bored.

Bored that their slow life

Hasn't found a better outlet

than to put down those,

Who put themselves out there.

Despite the fear 

Of judgement, of ridicule of pain.

Words do hurt

Far deeper than you'd know.

It takes two minutes to break

What took two years to make.

Yet they stand, 

With pride, as they continue

filling the minds of young creators

With fear and negativity.

Do they enjoy feeding on fear ?

Or on insecurities ?

Do they wish to be,

What they call "savage"

Do they know the origins of the word ?


Thousands of years of evolution,

Yet they desire to return 

To those barbaric roots 

Yes! They are *savage* 

I agree.

But not the savage they think.

They are lost beings.

They are wild beasts.

Animals I'd say,with no honor

They feed on souls of those who lie hidden.

Yes they feast on vulnerability

To hide their own.

They pick on the weak to avoid getting picked on.

They gloat these actions

As acts of heroism.

They call you jokers as they look down.

But you and I both know,

Their life's a joke and 

they hide it too well.

They're the laughing stock 

that they resent so much.

And they know too well,

They day we talk,

Is the day they'll go numb.

Their tongues shall speak, but shall never hurt.

Their voices heard yet none shall listen.

If it takes two minutes for them to destroy.

I think we can do it in five if not ten.

But yes. 

We can destroy too.

So every time we turn a deaf ear,

Or go silent,

It's not us trying to run away.

It's us, fighting the demons inside,

Demons who tell us to rip you apart.

Demons that ring loud in our heads.

Demons that we've been fighting

Demons that have left is weak

Demons who now want to haunt you.

So, the next time we turn away

Know that, we just fought a demon

Urging us to let you be 

a part of your life too.

It's best you stop pushing your luck.

For some day, we may just break

And let loose.

And oh,

No wonder you went blank,

When I asked for a reason.

A reason to write.

Because I know,

You simply could not tell 

"To make fun it behind your back"

To my face. 

Could you?


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