I compose songs in my painful tears.
I write stories in my baddest dreams.
I tell you what, I can't write nor compose in my happiest days.

I am tall but my dreams are taller than mine. 
I am thin but my hopes are thinner than a line.
I can't shout when I have doubts, 
'cause my voice cracks when I say it loud.

I am a someone wanting to prove that I can be something.
Like an ink in a pen, or a dot on a paper skin.
I might be an ink that soon will be nothing,
But my trace remains there to witness my value in your paper skin.

That's me, that's a few I can be.
Vote me, I'm A Writer Secret Diary