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no creative freedom please

Everything is easier when it feels like a movie
Somethings just
sometimes,
click
into place
Like I have just directed the perfect scene
And no one has forgotten their lines

But,
Most days are chaotic
No one sticks to their script
I get lost in their mistakes
Why cant they be their characters

Most days feel like hell
Like trying to organise a group of toddlers
and all they do is yell
It feels like trying to find where you are on the wrong map
Or trying to write a message with a calculator
BOOBS and HELLO
Is all I've got

Most days I'm so tired
That my hands start to dream
And my feet melt
And my mind wanders
I pretend that I could be anyone anywhere and that it's my choice to be here and like this
And I know that it is but I don't want it to be
I want to move and change my name, and my hair, and my voice, and what I wear

this film doesn’t seem to be working out
I might just start another
And I’m hoping it doesn’t have to end, to turn around
Im always getting so close to that last full stop sound.

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