My head throbs with anger My hand are cramped from writing My body worn tarnished gray Why don't I throw it all away Why do I write, how do I write Where is its source It runs deep with in, swim and find I am not like others, I am my own kind Blood rushes deep, my thoughts do seep My sinister twin hides and creeps My dreams tainted, corruption found A world of my kind breeding all around Don't ask us where it comes from Wait til its over, wait til its done I can't answer the questions society has asked. Sometimes my talent hides or shows up masked If I can't answer the question Why I think the way I think Why I see the things I see Just make up your own answer that's fine with me I can't answer it either can't you see It's like an open wound flowing out of me. I can't always stop it, sometimes it leaves a scar On my kind's mind's,you venture to far. I am who I am I am really just the same I am not known worl wide I am not friends with fame I can accept criticism, and maybe a slam But, I agree with Van Gogh Just take me as I am.
Reason for writing:
I want to know if other feel the same about writing or what ever talent they might have. And how hard it is to be recognized.
Birth sign: Sagittarius
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