Poem Thieves

They stole my poems
Took them as thieves take jewels in the night
Covered in masks and white coats
Promising salvation even as they took mine
Grasping my precious poems and leaving pills in their place
Pills that slow the world and the words until I can no longer whisper them
Slow thoughts once dripping with creativity and in turn leave mumbled phrases
Better suited for this cookie cutter world
Where swings are only for playgrounds and not moods
Where poems are only beautiful if hypothetical
Where tears are only good if they’re not uncontrollable.
Where I’m only good if I’m controllable.
They stole my poems


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