If I were a writer,
all the novels I wrote and I’ll be writing in the future
will all be dedicated to you.
You would see crumpled papers scattered all over my room.
Open each of them,
its about you.
There would be cared for papers too. Secretly kept away safe in a cabinet.
Again, about you.
I have wasted a plethora of ink just writing your name.
Do you call me a writer now