Is this what it means to be a writer?
To uphold a never ending facade?
To scrape pen against paper thinking
A limited vocabulary can create sentences?

Words carry no meaning
When the hand that wrote them is weightless.

I live in writer's block,
Moving from one stolen phrase to the next.
A boycott upon originality,
Copyright stays infringed upon my fingertips.

Pray that no one ever reads my words,
They might recognize them.

I tried laughing at my foolishness
But my tongue rolls back into my throat.
I allowed others to boost my confidence
Instead of telling me the truth.

The truth that I'm not as good as I think.
Not as good as I wanted to be.

So as I am
I am a liar, a cheat, a thief
But not a writer.
I wasted my time wasting others'

I'm sorry everybody.

cori graham