Writer’s life

It was a sad and cloudless morning

I took my pen out of my kit

And put a feather in my head

Did I really think it would help me to write best?

 

I ate an apple and drunk some tea

but the ideas were still not pouring out of me.

I started crying from despair

then I went to the fridge to eat a pear.

 

“Let’s see a movie” I told myself

“Or read a book that would be the best!”

I run with joy up and down

even my spider thought:

“we have a crazy one around”

 

The evening found me in the bathtub

thinking “that’s it, my fate as a writer it’s done”.

I threw away my pens and pencils

even my favorite notebook full of sketches.

 

Two months passed and I still cry.

I always thought I would be a writer for life.

I walk pass the places I loved to write

and I don’t speak with people I used to inspire.

 

Friends have left me all alone

and I have no one to turn to when I feel alone.

They say “you act like your best friend died”

which is true my writing has gone out of sight!

 

Searching and searching I sat by the sea

I closed my eyes and my mind was full of dreams.

An empty page came my way

and I started writing about my long day.

 

 

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