Mine.

i sit reading blogs and notes,
gasping and lynching with admiration
all the time wondering
what happened to me?

They tell me my page is redundant
my creativity is limited
I turn to answer them and meet nobody
what happened to me?

Lost in a crowd i try to pen a few lines
hopeless thoughts rushing around in mindless swirl
no one is looking, i steal ideas, i am creative
what happened to me?

I am creative, i do not write much,
i think, smug in this thought i move
till i see a kid with books penning some verse\
i wait and watch, i see something i like, i forge myself
I am creative

I turn on the computer, switch on music
wait, where is my music?
he heard this, i heard this on her phone, I might have heard this on VH1
i heard and i answered my duty, i was loyal
i flicked it, i am creative

I see a movie, a run of the mill to me it seems,
after all whats the difference between a godard, tarkovsky or kubeck
they all made great movies, all i need is to is voice my first thought
then they will know that i am an original,
I am creative

I sit back read this poem with flourish
i have written it, the words are mine,
the context is mine,
the thought is......
(i check behind me)
Mine.....