My Story

If i tell my story
When no one is willing to hear
Who takes the glory?
And who holds it dear?

For my story is my mind,
Yet to the world i'm a ghost.
A book the librarian forgot to find.
A writer who can't write when she needs to the most.

Writing is a lot like talking
But simply not aloud,
Or walking
Away from the crowd.

My story is mine
I write it day and night,
Line by line
From morning to midnight.

For it is my story
I write it every second, minute, and hour.
A record of my memories
Both sweet and sour.

by Maya Trowborst

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Comments (3)

A nice poem. Very elegantly crafted. Thanks for sharing......1010
Maya, such a profound poem...10+++
Good work dear......