analyzing
of the writers' work,
I begin to wonder what
joy there is in writing
if someone will only
pick it apart.
Don't dissect the words!
They weren't meant to
stand alone.
They are part of a story,
a captive memory,
a snapshot of a heart.
As much as I
delight in learning my trade,
I really hate to pull apart
the fabrications of another
soul bonded so closely to ink
when I know that's
not
what they wrote it for.
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