Keepsake

what is there to say? so very little
not already covered by another pen
by other words, more or less
sophisticated than mine.

i do not pretend that i am good,
nor that i am bad.
i'm just a writer. i write things.
and that's fine.

poetry. fic. original stories.
i'm a writer, and that's not something i can lose.
as the world shifts, changes,
as people whirl away and come back

it's always there, my knowledge of these keys
these letters, either through pen or pencil or a keyboard
it is not something that can be taken away.
and i am glad for it.
 

Abriatis

NY

YWP Alumni

More by Abriatis

  • i am me.

    it's 12am on nine-eleven-twenty-twenty.
    my name is rowan, and i am eighteen.
    i have struggled. i have cried. i did not think i'd make it this far.
    i did not think i'd do half the things i have.
  • nine-eleven

    to think that i will be a legal adult tomorrow.
    i could vote. i could buy fish at petsmart.
    i could apply to places like aldi's and tractor supply.

    my birthday, for me, has always been tinged with sadness.
  • placidity

    i watch the numbers tick up.
    i read the headlines.
    suny oneonta shuts down for the semester -
    six hundred cases.

    i go outside.
    i see the masks, worn properly or not.
    the spraying of hand sanitizer,