OctPoWriMo 6 - I Am a Writer

I dreamed of growing up to be

Something in creativity,

To write fiction and poetry,

To live carefree, to live carefree.

They said I wasn’t practical,

My dream was truly fanciful,

And it was even laughable,

And magical, just magical.

But I find magic all around:

In maples red and golden crowned,

In birds and streams, deep underground,

Nature astounds, Nature astounds.

It doesn’t matter what I do;

I am a writer, through and through.

My nine-to-five is not my truth. I always knew, I always knew.