I am not a writer

I am not a writer

Creativity doesn't flow through me

Literature doesn't fill my soul

Words do not fulfill me

Theatre does not make me

Poetry doesn't help me grow

I am not a writer

The words I create are not profound

It's something I just know.

A Poem for Today

As the storm clouds grow and edge closer,
She sits and longs to fly within them
Alas, she has no wings, no angel is she
These four walls are all she has, all she ever will have.


Fear
It grips its hot, sweaty hands around her
It squeezes, wrapping its long, greasy fingers around her throat
She feels trapped and gasping for air.


Her fear is not a normal one
No fear of snakes or clowns, no arachnophobia
She fears being forgotten
She fears being neglected.


So strong is this fear that she over-compensates
Her love becomes too much and smothers
Without you, you see, she would have no desire to live
For death would be better than a life alone.


As she thinks and thinks, and thinks some more
Panic begins to grow
For she is nothing special or amazing
Perhaps only different.


But her will is strong, her heart even stronger
She knows there is no need to panic
She will always have you, you promised her this
Peace in her soul.