What I am Made of

By
If words were a rhythm,
and writing a rhyme,
I’d be a musician.

If letters could measure, and
grammar was blueprints,
I’d be an architect.

If sentences were lessons,
if substance was a test,
I’d be a teacher.

If characters were patients,
their personalities medicine,
I’d be a doctor.

If plots were formulas,
if motives were numbers,
I’d be a mathematician.

If a story was a trial
if a reader was a judge,
I’d be a lawyer.

But, as it is, words are just words.
Writing can rhyme, but not always, and
letters just make up an alphabet.
Grammar’s just something I suffer in school,
sentences are simply things that we say,
substance is hard to come by.
Characters are figments of imagination
with made up personalities and looks,
plots are varied,
motives are weird,
a story is just a story,
a reader is just a reader.

But, as it is, words are my heartbeat,
Writing its rhythm.
Letters send signals to my muscles to move,
Grammar is the marrow in my bones.
Sentences are my feet and legs,
Substance is my breath.
Characters are my conscious,
their personalities shaping my eyesight,
their looks coloring my world.
Plots are my blood,
And Motives are my mind,
A Story is my soul,
A Reader is my goal





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