Thoughts Of A Forlorn Writer

Just what it says in the title, I guess.

I know that I will never be a great writer,

I'm much too logical and limited for that.

I know that nobody's there behind me,

Supporting me through it, that genuinely

Likes what I write, and that's okay.

It hurts, but it's all right.

I can accept that.

Maybe I'm horrible at this, and maybe

You don't understand, but I have to try.

That's who I am, always trying to get my

Point across even if nobody cares enough

To read it or just take note. I'm not that important.

I'm not talented, I'm not pretty, I'm not smart,

But I'm human, I have the very basic rights

That you have, and that is what gives me

The right of free speech in the form of this poem.

And I'm crying right now, and really thankful that

This is a screen and not paper, 'cause I'd be smudging

The graphite by now with tears.

I'm done, I'm so close to being done, to just

Give up, but writing is my addictive substance,

And I can't seem to give it up.

The End

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