I hate being a writer. Because, technically, I'm not. It's all in my head, all these world's and fantasies and names and dramatic scenes and hilarious dialogue. But I haven't written a word, so can I really identify as a writer? I'm just a scatterbrained high schooler
Whatever you are physically, male or female, strong or weak, ill or wealthy, all those things matter less than what your heart contains. All those things are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.
It's only nine in the morning here
And already I have to get out of bed
But that just isn't possible, I fear
Because my cat is too cute; her name is Ted
I hold her to my heart very near
But if I disturb her sleep, she would wish me
dead
Write a rhyming poem about what bothered you the most today.
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