In my hand, there's a pen to write the world
I quiver, reluctant to start writing, the ink pooling into a puddle
Why am I the one upon which this rests?
What if I cause more pain than there already is?
What if everyone hates me for this?
What if there are better ways of rewriting than I can do?
What if...
What if...
What if...


















I set the pen down, leaving the task for someone better suited for this