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» writer truths

i am a writer

( and to some that may not sound important, but
what would they do when they are sad? )

wondering who really, truly loves me
like the best friends i read about in books
compare my friendships to theirs

( am i important to someone?
am i good enough for them? )

and wondering where motivation comes from
i see wooden desks and red moons
and the slam of doors in the distance
none of them are inspiration
enough

( old memories i'd die to recall
i can't remember them
not anymore )

and there's chapters i need to write, stories i need to tell

( who's story is already finished?

is it mine?
whose story is left to tell? )

i am a writer,
and i do not have enough

-

i pretend i do

( have enough, that is.
i know i don't)

there are feelings i write about
that i've never felt
not really

( i did once, i was a child
swinging on a tire with

sunbeams in my air )

touch foreign lands,
reach the moon,
reach for their hand

( i wrote those once.
i'm scared that they're all lies. )

worry, worry, worry
make believe. imagine.
write the tears away, i won't cry -

( - i don't know if i can. )

i am a writer,
and in my tales i weave lies

-

i understand
one day i will tell truths
but that day isn't today

( maybe in a million years )

but i'll still

speak them
telling half-truths are easy

( my voice shakes )

they come true in my dreams
and i try to copy them down onto paper

( it doesn't work. )

i am a writer,
and nothing i write is good

( true )

enough.

[ 9.2.21 ]

wrote this one for class lol