I am a writer,
and I resent that part of myself.
Resent it not just because it exposes me
(though it does;
writing is one of the most vulnerable pastimes there are)
but also because I cannot seem to stop doing it.
They say that all addictions are bad,
or for the most part anyway,
and I am beginning to see how even an addiction to words
could be an issue.
the way I see it there are people who write for a living
and there are people who live for their writing;
who do things only for the purpose of gaining writeable experience
and who cannot experience anything without writing about it.
I fall into that latter category
and it's a bit lonely,
because a moment doesn't feel complete until I've written it,
worked it into a story or a piece of music
or even a stupid poem.
Because every time I see something,
even something tiny and beautiful,
the kinds of everyday moments people see and smile and move on,
I have to write about it.
And if I don't write about it,
Because there are not enough hours in a day
to live everything
and write everything,
and even to someone who wants to do everything,
that's too much.
I resent the fact that passing the Camping for a Cause tents on the town green,
later in the evening,
with a campfire maybe somewhere in the distance
and children running up and down playing games on the gazebo,
most people saw a pretty, compassionate scene.
I just wanted to write it,
just wanted to communicate it to the entire world
and you can hardly do that with everything.
So I resent the fact that writing is my way of living
and I resent the fact that I am addicted to words;
I am who I am,
and language and imagination just-so-happen to be my drug of choice—
so to speak.
So even though it is also my dream
and my passion
and leaves my peers in awe,
I cannot help but resent the fact
that I am a writer.
I am a writer,