Once, I was a singer.
My voice never fluttered soft enough for anyone to listen.
I was an artist, too...
But my lines did not lay correctly after I drew them.
I loved recitation.
But I felt the writers words incorrectly.
I was a dreamer.
But my goals never made it past a thought.
I was a musician,
But my notes faltered just as weary hearts do.
I was someone's dearest.
It lasted like a match's life.
I was a mother.
But my body gave up on me.
I am a writer,
Just as all things, that will end too.