“Damn, he’s good.

Damn, he can write.

What’s he going to do?”

But I want to fight.

I’ve written so much that I’ve ran out of room,

All this paper and these staples and four thumbrives, too.

Sign up for this, sign up for that,

The best writer we’ve ever had, one flaw in an essay: take that!

Everybody’s got a list of all the things that I should do,

The summaries that I should write,

And the reviews? Oh, just one or two.

 

It’d be safer to write just what I saw,

But that won’t reveal any flaw.

Perfection is not a goal, but change is mine.

How dare I say what’s already been said?

How dare I ignore what I know I can find?

How dare I hold myself back?

I hold myself back, and I start to broil,

My mind begins to tremble,

And there are marks on my tongue.

Open wounds from my own teeth that bite back the words

That could break, that could change,

That could recreate.

 

My lifeline is the nerve, raw and black,

Running from my head to my hand,

And sometimes, all the way back.

It deciphers what I see,

The twitch in a lie,

And it burns with no relief,

And relieved, it burns,

Through the paper,

Through the screen, and when people understand,

When they realize

What’s been there the whole time,

I know that I am powerful.

I know that I can create for those who deserve,

I can break those who have gone too far,

And that I can be a difference.

A difference is who I am.

But I can be a bigger difference.

Because I’m not scared.