I am not a writer. I cannot
write every night late into the deep
like young writers should
I do not have the perseverance to craft a character
they'll care about or romanticize
my characters are blind, foolish, ridiculous
unlovable, like the self-portrait
of a blond man kissed by the purple night
I am not strong enough to **** the dragons in my stories
I'll write you into the pages
but it will never be anything more than an incomplete explanation,
what painting could contain the sun?
I cannot contain the word that
you say with every moment and breath.
I cannot contain the word and
so the word will contain me. The ink will pulse
into my skin, kissing my soul with blessed eternity
I am not worthy, I am never worthy of the darkness of the word
impressed upon my heart of white, a tattoo
of something claimed by those greater, a crown of false gold,
those who wore it before were forced to give it up
by the one event they were trying to cheat
I say I had wings, and maybe I did, but they're gone now;
I am not a writer, the word has been falsely taken,
I am an usurper, not a writer,
I am terrified because I have
this river of flowing black etching and stamping,
forming and gliding, untangling into something greater than myself,
something I cannot earn or hear-
I am not a writer. Please don't let me be a writer.
I am not worthy.