I look back through my writings
wondering why I said those things
Wishing I had that spark
To inspire others to think
Should I write down those words
Should I document my thoughts
Unknowing what they can hold
Believing in what I am taught
If this is
some talent I have
then why can’t my words
speak louder than my mouth
My jumbled ideas
are just words on a page
to read for awhile
but not to remember a day
What does it mean
to have that title
to be a ‘writer’
if I can’t even rhyme ?
If all the great poets
do it, then why can’t I
Is my answer in my question
perhaps I am not a great one
I don’t mean to depress
I just write what I think
Perhaps that is what
writers do best
So maybe one day
I shall be like the rest
Maybe I will even say
a little sweet rhyme
Or maybe future readers
will instead inspire
me to write deeper
with more truth in my words
It won’t be me,
who has the light
but you who reads this
and shares my delight
There always is
that time to dream
And when I do
I just happen to write
So continue to live
for it’s you that I write
The world is not my oyster
instead is my fight
It takes me by surprise
it opens my eyes
Makes me think a little harder
do a little better
Why, I ask myself
am I a writer
I suppose for instances such as this
that I can’t help but believe
there are choices for us all
we must just pick our paths
Discover the good
and also the bad
I suppose maybe
that is why I
am a writer.