He said I was a great writer, but I had to disagree,
You see those words on paper, I said, are just my honesty.
They represent my heart poured out through the tip of the pen,
They represent my soul’s language, through how my hand held the pen.
For writers are creative, and full of imagination,
While I am just drunk off our moments and memories.
Writers spend days to perfect a piece.
I don’t worry about perfection,
Because I am not perfect,
And neither is my heart or soul,
And they are my guide to writing.
Through these alphabet letters, I put side by side,
To create words, to help me describe,
My thoughts and feelings,
My love and addiction,
So I am not a writer really,
Not even a good one you see,
Because these words that make up meanings,
Are just my heart and soul
Spilled on a piece of paper,