I am not the creator.
I did not create words.
The letters
and the sounds,
they are not mine.

But I am the thinker.
In the deep depths of my mind,
I find the people and the places
the feelings and the details
the beginnings and the endings.

But I am the ******.
I take the letters in my hand,
pushing them together
and breaking them apart.
I take the words on the page,
twisting
and molding
and transforming.

But I am the painter.
My sentences scrawl across the page,
creating pictures in your mind
and emotions in your heart.
My words,
your time machine.
Your portal to a new world.

I am not the creator.
I did not create words.
But I created the stories.
Those are mine.
I used the words
that sit dry on the pages,
and in people’s mouths,
thinking
and bending
and painting with them.

I am not the creator.
I am the storyteller.