I just need some CC on this
The creamy, white paper sits beneath my world
A catacomb of ideas and muse that begins with anything
I am a poet, a writer
I sing my words on scraps that to anyone else would
seem meaningless and insignificant
A fly that sits upon a wall and is like any other.
My mind slips into its home, its place
the letters I scribble form words, sentences, poetry
They shape what I am thinking, what I am rebelling from
I am a poet, a writer
I gather my writings from some unworldly field
A meadow where the flowers reek of innocence.
I listen to the words on the page
They are speaking to me
They are what I am and what I will become
I am everything that I write about
Experiences from here and there
I am writer, a poet.
