like, as a hobby?

 if i wasn’t a writer,
there would be smashed glass
all over the wood floors.
i would carry a bat and
a pocketknife
and swing my arms as fast
as possible at the most breakable
objects-
if i wasn’t a writer,
i would scream at the neighbors
because they don’t understand my problems
and i just want people to know how i feel.
if i wasn’t a writer,
i would tattoo your name all over my body
and trace over the ink
with my fingertips because that’s
the most destructive thing i can do
without saying i love you.
if i wasn’t a writer,
i would wear shoes that don’t fit me
because that’s edgy
and being edgy is dangerous
and apparently i’m a dangerous person
when i haven’t written a poem in a few weeks.
if i wasn’t a writer,
i would watch Netflix shows
without imagining a poem that
summarizes the second season
without directly saying the name of the show.
if i wasn’t a writer,
i would eat food that makes sense,
food that is normal,
food that doesn’t look like a millennial
took twenty minutes to arrange it on a plate,
forty minutes to take the perfect picture of it,
and five minutes to eat a few bites
before saying they’re full.
if i wasn’t a writer,
i wouldn’t press delete more often
than i say hello,
i wouldn’t silently scream over “don’t save”
buttons that look exactly like “keep forever”
and if i wasn’t a writer,
i wouldn’t be writing this poem,
and i wouldn’t fold up the edges to make it neat
and i wouldn’t seal it with a tiny sticker
or kiss the outside
or run to mailbox and send it into the universe,
loudly proclaiming that I AM A WRITER.