I am a writer

I’m stupendous, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid

It means I’m spectacularly lucid in my abilities to create astounding images via words

Though madness to writers can become great hazards

I am embellishing little worlds in my mind

All of the time

I have the habit of stopping what I am doing to write more, ideas queuing, paper ever strewing across the floor

I am incessantly scribing the lives, losses, loves and findings of imaginary people, people who I am god to

This is what I do

I love to write, I love to draw, I love to strew paper across the floor, but even more than that I love, the eyes that look in awe

For I am a writer and nothing more

 

 

 

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Filed under Poems G - I

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