Sometimes I feel like my writing is inferior,
Like others works of art are far superior,
I have felt unworthy and well below par,
With the words of verse and prose I have written so far,
Picking holes within my work is my favourite pastime,
Not liking the tone of a piece or its rhythm or its rhyme,
Self critical is my way,
To my self worth I betray,
But at this point in time I feel,
That as long as words I do not steal,
I should be proud that I can write effortlessly,
There are far less fortunate people than me,
People who can't spell or read or write,
People who can't put their view across without an internal fight,
People who cannot see written words from being blind,
People who cannot hear the beauty of words from all of mankind,
At least I have the ability to use my right to speak,
Even though I may be picky and many a word I may tweak,
I'm blessed with the power of words in all their glory,
I'm blessed with the power of words to tell my life and it's stories.
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