As the early morning sun is peeking
behind the mountains in my backyard,
I begin to romanticize a day where I do not doubt,
a day where I do not indulge in self-sabotage,
a day where I believe I am capable of achieving my childhood dream.

I am a poet,
or I like to call myself one.
My heartaches and heartbreaks give life to empty pages;
I rarely compose from glorious days.
I’m inspired by the world, by people around me
but mostly by my pain.
I consider myself an introvert
for you will rarely hear me speak,
but on the other hand, I have much to say
just not with my lips
but with a pen.
I hide behind ink and paper
ready to write my feelings away.

I am the poetry that I write.