Writer

They told me to be a writer but

They also told me that being a writer was no way to be successful

So I started hunting for the meaning of writing; the meaning of words

I looked in books

I looked on chalkboards

I looked in the packets my English teachers handed out to me

And I found nothing

I saw no reason to slap more words down on paper anymore

They told me to keep to myself but

They also told me to look around and see the world beyond the tip of my nose

So I started looking around and trying to see things I hadn’t before

Love notes etched into pavement

Suicide notes written on playgrounds

Anonymous notes left for the next artist

And I was finding pieces

Pieces of people that had let themselves fall into their passions

They told me that I would surmount to nothing but

They also told me everything I did was somehow important in the grand scheme

So I took too much care in every little single thing I did

Dotting my I’s, crossing my t’s

Folding my clothes instead of crumpling them

Following their standards instead of chasing who I wanted to be

And I found that it was pointless

Because in the end I have to live with the decisions I’ve made

So using my words to convey everything that they told me was false

And portray the truths they would share through contradictions

I became a writer

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