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I contemplated on my
literary products;
disgraceful usage of vocabulary,
repulsive plot lines,
overloaded twists that misled
hopeful hearts into the realm
of unhappy, grim endings
— how should I prove myself worthy?

You were just an amateur,
born to entertain
your circus audience;
stop dreaming of success
for you were not worthy of it.

I sunk lower beneath my
all-time low self-esteem;
I learned that my writing
was as gruesome as
my efforts to make you stay;
everyone that I loved
went away
in the end.

Nobody loved you anyway;
why should you love them?

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