My Dear Muse of Writing!

My dear muse of writing! 
Why have you turned your face from me? 
I crossed the horizons of my imagination, panting, 
But you were nowhere in sight, i stretched my hands and found that you had left me! 
Had I been so bad at this that you thought you were wasting your time with me? 
Had I been so ordinary that the spark you searched for was nowhere to be seen? 
Maybe I'm not what I thought I would be, 
Maybe I'm not what you wanted me to be, 
Maybe I'm just not meant to be good with words, 
Maybe you tried but got disappointed in me... 
I used to feel quite elated by the thought that I was good at writing, 
But that was because I lived in my little bubble of a world, waiting... 
And as I got out, I saw what I could not even comprehend! 
People younger than me and people with tougher academia wrote so much better than me that it made me realize... 
That I was never good at all, 
I was just hallucinating! 
Expecting the world of geniuses to admire my handicapped writings! 
Wanting someone somewhere to be inspired by the cockroach of a poem that I used to write in a library full of butterflies... 
I realized! 
I was nothing! 
Wearing the disguise of a bird, always hiding, 
Knowing that I was a worm! 
My dear muse of writing! 
I am sorry I disgusted you! 
I thought I could do it but obviously I didn't have what it takes to be a good writer... 
Maybe it's not meant to be... 
Maybe it was never supposed to be me! 
They say there are three kinds of people in this world, 
All defined by their way of responding to words! 
Some are readers some are writers, 
Some lucky and talented enough to be both, 
Maybe I'm just a reader who lost her way, 
Maybe I'm like the ostrich who dunks her head in the sand when a pack of predators close in, 
Maybe I'm like the man who keeps on running in circles hoping to find a corner! 
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really thought I had it in me, 
I really thought I could beat the current, 
I thought I was more than what I originally am, 
But maybe being a writer is like an unachievable dream for me, 
You can train a monkey to juggle coins but you can't expect him to go to the store and buy you hot cocoa in a blizzard... 
My dear muse of writing! 
I'm sorry I let you freeze in the flesh burning coldness, 
I'm sorry I couldn't be trained for more than juggling!!!

◄ Gradual Descent in Life

"It" ►


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