The Writer

A seventeen year-old poem about becoming a writer

The Writer

I started as a dreamer
No star to be my guide
No rules and no direction
“Where to?” I can’t decide

I’ve had all kinds of jobs before
From factory to field
From offices and salons too
My fate was never sealed

And then I wrote a story
It wasn’t very long
But I was disappointed
It should have been a song

I couldn’t get the lyrics down
The focus wasn’t there
As words turned into sentences
The song just went nowhere

Still I didn’t realise
How thoughts inside my head
Could end up on the paper
Not songs, but prose instead

I chanced upon some story sites
One day when I was free
And came to the conclusion
“Hey, shit, this could be me”

Could I do just as well as these?
Could I write down some prose?
Until I start and finish one
Heaven only knows

Then the words began to flow
And stories did appear
I’m still no good at poetry
I s’pect that’s pretty clear

But now I have direction
Although it doesn’t pay
And whilst I wish with all my heart
It doesn’t work that way

Now I take it step by step
To walk before I run
And write the book, I know’s inside
Meanwhile it’s just some fun

But watch out in your bookstores
For one day I’ll be there
In hardback or in paperback
I really do not care

One day I will be published
I know it in my heart
For now it’s the beginning
And that’s the hardest part