I am the chief of many headaches.
Few will admit their molestation and infatuation with me.
I thrive on the unbelief that there are other ways than the way most frequently used.
If you would consider other ways, the thunderous pounding to your head would soften.
But at the thought of this you allow vises to grip what little is left.
When there is nothing else to grab, the desired effect is achieved.
There is no room to consider anyway other than my way.
Don't complain about me when you purposely invited me in.
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Comments about this poem (Closedmindedness by Timothy Branch )
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