‘I write’, I proclaim, arrogantly,
And proudly, because I create
And I mold words of my own
But under the arrogance and
The pride, and the facades
Lies a simple fear, one so small
That it should be buried under
The words I can spill out into
Patterns that please, and read
Like the insides of your head
But still it gnaws, and still stings
Because I’m scared of realisations
Dawning of the fact that I steal words
And expressions and feelings too and
Make them my own. The only problem
Here is that I steal from someone who
Can’t ever get them back because
She’s simply stealing from herself.
And proudly, because I create
And I mold words of my own
But under the arrogance and
The pride, and the facades
Lies a simple fear, one so small
That it should be buried under
The words I can spill out into
Patterns that please, and read
Like the insides of your head
But still it gnaws, and still stings
Because I’m scared of realisations
Dawning of the fact that I steal words
And expressions and feelings too and
Make them my own. The only problem
Here is that I steal from someone who
Can’t ever get them back because
She’s simply stealing from herself.
Theif
ReplyDeleteInsightful...
Only a writer will understand the depth of these thoughts
Keep writing