so I lay down my pen

let others weave the threads

that make fingers bleed

with excruciating self-truths

cut like a knife against artery

bleed into the warp and woof

they weave, I merely bleed

diluted by salt and sweat

of knowing the unworthiness

so I lay my pen down

let those who weave words

tell the tales; mine are inconsequential

in the word marketplace

mine by smudged fingerprints,

their whole handprints of exposition

so I lay down my pen

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