Everything I am and everything I will be
revolves around the capability
to write this poetry.
-
Oh, the clatter I create
in my pitiful artistic state.
If only I was more than a crazy little girl,
with a pencil and some paper
in this great big scary world.
-
Can you imagine me curled in a corner
with my paper and my pen,
coloring myself a picture
as the world around me spins?
-
Can you see me clinging to my creation,
peering at it with Big Sad Tearing eyes?
And as I stare I calmly ask it "Why?
Why, can't I trade you in?”
I'd gladly be rid of my paper and pen.
-
I’d take some other talent instead.
One with a few less tears to shed,
one that makes my mommy proud,
one that brings my dad around.
One that grabs my loved one’s attention.
-
If only I was more than a poet, artist, or musician.

you really pulled me in. When I first started reading it, I was scared that it would end up all crazy and sad and I'd lose interest, but your poem sped up and made me feel all tingly inside, if you catch my drift. I don't really have anything to say other than that, except for the ending confusing me. You only talk about being a poet in this, until the very end where you jump off a cliff (metaphorically) and tell us you're also a musician and artist. Could you incorporate that into the poem? 