I am not a writer
I am an idea
A possibility
Of something-
But what that something is
I do not know 

I am a world
Inside a body
A world
That wants to
See this own one- learn it
Feel it, live it. 

I am infinity
That wants to
Show itself-
But not in colours
But in words and feelings
With nothing but ink 

I am not a writer
Writer is the wrong word
For sometimes I feel like
My blood is as black as tar
And when I put pen to paper
It is my blood that leaks out
Crafting stories and dreams and wishes
I live to write-
But I also write to live
Because those words
Endless somethings
Build up and up and up inside
And writing is
Less harmful than
Other ways to let them out.


I am not a writer
I am words

The End

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