I am a writer.

I am a writer in search of poetry

I am a writer coping with my syndrome

I am a writer with a liberating tattoo on my ankle

I am a writer attempting to finish my previous poetry

I am a writer wide awake at 2:05 am with a heavy heart and black ink

I am a writer with dehydrated lips and a croaky voice

I am a writer sitting in a library with a bottle of sula

I am a writer with broken relationships and average vocabulary

I am a writer that likes blueberry jam in between oat biscuits
Maybe, I am not a writer

Maybe, I am a drunkard with unsettling things to say to you

Maybe, I’ll tickle your spine a little and kiss your earlobe

Maybe, I’ll ask you to come visit me sometime

Maybe, I’ll pour you some scotch and show my paintings to you

Maybe, I’ll sharpen my knife and pluck a few lilies for you
Maybe, I am not a writer

Maybe, I am a drunkard with thoughts of ruining you in the most beautiful ways.

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