un-categorized prose

i wish i could shut my brain off i wish i had never learned to write i am so angry at language these days taking everything i could have from me giving me so little in return i wish i had never learned to write wish i could feel instead do instead tired of the automatic response to categorize to turn everything that is said into action tired of not doing not feeling i am just creating spaces third worlds places to go to and be in but not here not this world this is somewhere else this is not for me what am i doing here except not doing? what does it mean that i am taking from this world this language to create something else and still not answering to the whole person that i am? how much of me is lost through writing, lost in translation?

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