I am a Writer

This is me

These words here

and these ones

All the people

They’re me too

the bits and pieces

any personality and all my flaws

every inch of me laid bare

in ink

on paper

on this little digital screen

This is me

written across story after

story after story

playing out hopes

and simulating dreams

calling forth nightmares

and fantasies to fight my

knights and dragons, my battles

These characters, my characters

puppets on typed up strings

rigged to do

what I would

to do what I wouldn’t

doing whatever they want

despite, or in spite, of

what I think

This is me

my favorite places

the beloved hills and valleys, sands and saltwater

every single location I hated

filled with mosquitoes and fickle plants

burning through the pages

in vivid color

a place to relive my memories

or reimagine them

replaying and revising event

after event after event

memory after memory reborn

This is me

writing because its

what I do best

writing because its all I can do

with my blood spilt for fiction

my body decaying to build cities

drying into a husk to build worlds

my heart sinking into dirt that didn’t

exist this morning

This is me

splitting open my head

exposing and

displaying my brain

letting people see me

hating that people could see me

loving that people may see me

This is me

on this paper and the

next, aching and hoping

hoping my words reach someone

who needs them

that they reach someone, reach anyone

rejoicing when people read

breaking down inside, just a little,

when they don’t

This is me

begging to be left on read

a proud parent watching from the wings

glowing like a spotlight on each

precisely placed verb

every dedicatedly dancing article

considering every gentle turn of phrase

watching from the bleachers happily screaming

“thats my kid” with my flushed face

and my shit-eating grin

as the circles are run round after round

on paper

This is me

firing into the air

flinging things at a wall

looking to see where things will fall

pausing to see what sticks, see if they will

banging on the door of inspiration

daily, and if I get no answer setting

up camp on the front porch

bound and determined

to create, to become one with the world

around me

to surround myself with the created

to nestle myself down

and disrupt the very fabric

of the possible

This is me

thriving on confusion and mayhem

thriving on peace and calm and simple

but generally, honestly, actually,

surviving on lukewarm coffee and some

half-baked dreams that

may as well have washed up on shore

never quite sure of my place

but so beyond

excited to be here

desperately, incredibly unsure

of my path forward

but bound, destined, required

to make the trek

This is me

writing just to write

writing just to say something

happily shouting into the void

only sometimes wondering if I’ll

ever hear an answer back

excited to send things

up and out

and into the world

building any possibility

of a humble legacy word

by word by word, paragraph by

paragraph

one barely existent thought to the next

This is me

a little thrilled and delighted

a little concerned and disgusted

sort of rejoicing and grossly over confident

and loving that I get to

say that

This is me

These words here

and these ones

All the people

They’re me too

the bits and pieces

any personality and all my flaws

every inch of me laid bare

in ink

on paper

on this little digital screen

because

I’m a writer

and This is Me

***

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