I Hate Writing

November 4, 2016

I hate writing, 

Words spilling on a page

A fallacy, 

A facade, 

A pen or pencil in hand waiting to create

Fake feelings. 

A sentence or two strung together 

With the elegance of a feather, 




I hate writing, 

Poems that rhyme 

And the people that only give you the time of day

When your words are written down on a page

In a lyrical verse.

I hate writing

When I'm cold

Because the warmth of the paper rubbing against my hand

Starts to disperse

And then my hand is the only thing that is warm.  

I hate writing, 

Because feelings spoken previously can also be the truth, 

Fist curling up tightly,

Graphite pressed hard against paper;

Hand cramps fueled by real emotions

Mixed with fake descriptions.  

I hate writing

Because I am good at it

Compliments from peers and adults encouraging it...

The writing, 

Not me. 

I hate writing

Because I will only ever be good at it

Shattered dreams of creating a book

When I have short-stories on hold.

I hate writing

Because I always have to do what I'm told. 

Why? Why are there so many rules?

I hate writing

Because my pencil has become a tool

For them, 

Not me. 

I hate writing 

Because it is not for me, 

No self-satisfaction anymore

Just trying to write what will sell in a store. 

How about a post-apocalyptic masterpiece?

Or two kids with cancer who fall in love?

Oh wait, 

That's already been done. 


I hate writing

Because it is the only thing I am good at.

No extracurriculars or plays to attend

Just a girl who writes poems everyday


I hate writing

Because no matter how many characters I create,

Or the shadow of my pencil dancing across the page,

I am still alone. 

I hate writing

Because it is the only thing I have ever truly loved, 

To exist without it would prove only numb.

I hate writing

Because without it, 

I am nothing. 

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