This is the only thing that I do best,
Out of the blue and out of anything ordinary.
I’m a writer and I’ll keep on writing,
Because writing is my thing,
The only thing I can do when I’m happy or sad,
‘Cause I’ll write all of my memories in a piece of paper,
And look back at it sometimes – someday;
Just to remind me of the past.

When I can’t find a way to let people know what I really feel,
I’ll write it in a piece of paper so that I just can let go of everything,
‘Cause I can hide in my writing,
And I can be someone else in my own world,
Because I am everything in those words, every single word that I can think of.

But I can’t be anything when it comes to realities,
Because I am nothing in this big crowd,
Not someone so particular that can move the world,
Not someone so special that others will notice when I scream out loud.

So small and unseen by people around me,
I’m nothing but almost a dust,
Dwells somewhere hidden under the desk,
Waiting to be seen by someone to sweep me away so I can be free,
Free from this long waits that make no sense at all…

Maybe someday when I can free myself,
I’ll find a way to make my passion come true,
Writing for the whole world to see me,
Writing so that maybe, just maybe,
Someone will finally see the real me…