MYSELF AS A WRITER

Pencil in one hand

Paper in the other.

Words dash onto the paper,

And I think

I think

I think about the horrors I will write.

The romantics I will say.

The wonders I will give.

The role I will play

In the hearts of people every single day.

And I think

I think

I think of myself as a poet

An athlete of words

A musician

An actress

But I think of myself as a writer

And that is all.

And I think

I think

I think I am heroic

And brave in my heart

That I believe is true.

But in my head

I use my wits

And think of facts.

But it tells me

Oh how it whispers

As I listen

And read to

Mark Twain,

Pink Floyd,

Charlotte Bronte,

Beatles,

And so much more.

It whispers to me,

“And I think,

I think

I think of mind twisting ends

And scary little plots

Of my heroes die

In the darkness waiting

For me to lift them up once again.

My heart skips beat

As I read my final draft.

And nothing is left

I laugh and

I cry.

And things turn out alright.

And I think

I think

I think of love

And write of hate.

I think of all the world gives me.

Hope

Peace,

And failure.

But as I pass these challenges

Of life,

They tell me

I’m amazing.

I’m a hero.

I’m a life changer.

But I tell them,

I’m just like them.

I’m a human being

Who makes mistakes.

Don’t be me.

Be yourself.

If that’s the only message that can reach you

Then let it.

Be yourself.

That is who I am.