My imagining is free.

My emotions are more than yours.

I can force them into you.

I am able to present

     my ideas

     to the world.

my pencil

 my pen

   my fingers

pour forth words

straight from my imagination.

I fill pages

and pages

with letters that mold together

to squeeze and wring

emotions out of my readers.

I am powerful.

I can cause others pain or

     raise them up to the

     highest heights.

I can let them fall back to the ground,

     flailing wildly without control,

     or I can take their wings

     and spread them gently

     and help them practice,

giving them the strength to fly

     off the chapter

            titles and out

                  into the world,

allowing them to expand

farther than I could

ever imagine.

I am a writer.

I am an artist.

I stay up into the darkening

hours, letting my thoughts

flow out like a river, like

a waterfall crashing onto

the b l a n k   p  a  p  e  r.

I push myself further towards

the breaking point of my mind.

My ideas are continuous, never stop

            flying

      running

  dashing

        sprinting

               racing

behind my eyes.

I am brave.