Lament

Can I truly be any form of man
If my only way of expression
Is with pen and paper in hand
Does that make me less of what I am
Because my emotions are limited
To what the words can understand

I am nothing but a fraud
(Please don't love me)
I produced nothing
(Please don't love me)
Worth saving
But I cling to it
For dear online life

Can I truly be consider a writer
If I have no publisher
For anything I have wrote
Am I less of a poet
If all the things that I write
Aren't so much mine

I am just afraid
(Please don't love me)
Of becoming something
(Please don't love me)
And being given what I don't deserve
I am just a liar, plagiarizer
See me as this
If only this time

Send me your hate
Post marked and delivered
Envelops of venom
Send me your distaste
So blatantly scathing
Send me, send me
To hell

Author's Note

Unmodified, unedited, typed and displayed as-is.