A God:
A being beyond comprehension.
The greatest possibility and impossibility,
an image of parting seas and fire raining from the sky,
an embodiment of love and justice,
a redeemer and a punisher,
a grand puppeteer, making men, animals, and nature dance by mere fingertips. 

Gods, merciful and benevolent or cruel and warlike, all can create existence. 
This is their divine right as Gods.

By these traits, there are Gods all around,
hundreds who've come and gone, each having created their worlds. 

Shakespeare, Dickens, Dostoevsky, Austin, Orwell, just to name a few.
Have they not created existences and worlds? Are they not puppeteers?
Their characters are their children, their strings pulled to their creators’ whims. 
Their worlds by their creators’ design, and their joys and pains fated to happen.

So what couldn't’t I live without?
Why mention these absurd notions of Gods?
 

Simply, I cannot live without my power as a God.

 
My Pen:
my divine scepter by which I cast my will,
by which I breathe life to my creations,
by which I make them feel and live,
by which I create existence.

My Notebook’s pages:
my blank universe to create to my design.

My Pen and my Notebook are all I would need.