i really want to be a write

Where do i compare?

Where do i possibly fit in?

My words do not meet the cut,

They are small and fall short

Of the poets i watch.

I want my words to sing,

To jump off the page and make a difference.

But i do not know how, and all i feel

Is the great indifference,

With few comments of encouragement.

Maybe i am just too different?

I am dyslexic.

Writing has always been something i have loved but never made the cut in.

I wish my words could make an impact, but my brain does not always know how to do that.

I am not a teacher, or an artist,or a scholar

I only write in my own room, thinking of thoughts in my own mind, I am not learn-ed.

maybe I am just a little bit wise, Not intellectual but purely emotional, I feel deeply, and I watch closely, and I tried to put those feelings into paintings, paintings made up of musings, but I can hardly spell the things I want to say.

I want to be a writer! so I will fight against my brain. I will fight my dyslexic tendencies to miss out words and forget punctuation, and every “I” i write I have to go back and capitalise because I always forget to capitalise!

I cannot remember where the commas go, or how to fully use them, punctuation is a mystery I may never fully understand! I still believe I can be a writer. I will never be the best, I will never be the most educated, but maybe, just maybe, I can tell a story! maybe, just maybe, I could encourage someone who is like me.

who is sitting in an English class Wondering if they’ll ever pass, yes, yes you will! I cannot tell you how, I can only say that it is possible, and I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to work double in comparison to the majority. but, try, try to find joy in the story, in the narrative, in the creativity, and I believe you are fully capable, and have full capacity of captivating attention, painting a picture.

I am just a girl, living in her parents house, unsure of how to make it in society but that’s not what really bothers me, what bothers me is that there are others like me that gave up on their stories because they couldn’t spell just. like. me.

And that’s all really, all i have to say today.

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