And I am a writer, writer of fictions,
Nothing is past preserving, in my mind.
Everything can become something, given time,
And it is my job, my passion, to create worlds and rhymes,
To craft new creations from the littlest of things that I find.
I am the heart that you call home.
A sister, a daughter, a lover, a fighter, a friend,
I have been many things to many people in life.
I can be the reason for laughter, or strife,
But no matter why, I will be with you till the end.
And I’ve written pages upon pages,
Papers stack up around me in my room,
Towers of characters and dialogue that never saw the light of day,
Moments caught in ink that were too precious to throw away.
I cling to them like a bride to her groom.
Trying to rid you from my bones.
I write through my pain as well, some days,
When I need to clean my wounds so they may heal.
Those are the writings that are most potent and real,
The things that I write when I think of how you went away…
And if you don’t love me let me go…
Song of the Day: The Engine Mood by The Decemberists