Writing about Writing signs of an Introvert

Writing

Hello again paper and pen.

What is it that I sit here and do?

This thing that consumes my time that occupies my mind.

With pen in hand the ink flowing, the ball rolling never opposing but just going as I press it firmly. The pen relaying the thoughts of my mind.

Never complaining nor condemning not seeing any fault as if blind.

And the paper lies here never saying a word just accepting everyone.

Here there is no fear of failing all I must do is let my mind be free.

Just follow the lines is the paper's only plea.

Sometimes the words rhyme and other times not, all that matters is what I want.

There are no click's here no pain no one who doubts.

I just write what I feel without worry if it's right or wrong.

No crowds to fit into wondering if I belong.

When I'm happy I write, when I'm sad the same.

When I feel I have no one to blame I write.

Am I famous? No. A Poet Who knows.

Some people have made a living at this.

While for some it just keeps us sane.

There are so many words to write and it seems so little time.

But does time matter here? Or is this not just a way to pass the time.

Is this what I do?

Here I can dream of the perfect place though I've never found it.

I can write of a perfect love while longing to feel it.

I can make people laugh. I can make them cry.

Without ever looking them in the eye. So I write.

With all my passion in my own way.

Never worrying about what I say.

The only worry is my hand cramping as it struggles to keep up.

So if you read this and wonder what is my plot?

My twist, my scheme or my train of thought.

Do not trouble your self by looking to deep.

Or hurt your eye's reading this in bad lighting.

There's no hidden secret.

No rocket science.

It's just me sitting here, Writing.

By R. Renfro