critical.
I’ve been given no choices, yet, I still must choose.
Though there is no contest here, apparently I lose.
Twisting my thoughts until they’re black and blue.
Damn perfectionist, I was never good for you.
critical.
I’ve been given no choices, yet, I still must choose.
Though there is no contest here, apparently I lose.
Twisting my thoughts until they’re black and blue.
Damn perfectionist, I was never good for you.
Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.
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