Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2020
I am a writer and I've always known it.
Even when my feeble self-esteem conspired against my urge to pick up a pen.
I carried it around
like you carry relics
my pens.
Remained tethered to them.
I write now.
Perhaps because I am not a talker.
Written by
Meysa  London
Please log in to view and add comments on poems