I don’t feel like a have

a lot to offer the world.

What can I do?

I’ve only so much.

My much is little.

You may read what I write

when I say “have a wonderful day”

 and think that I’m a friendly person,

but I’m not.


I’m actually quite reclusive.

And my pen gave me quite

the webbish cave to hide in.

 And so I hid.

 And I kept in hiding.

 All the while, writing.

All the while, brewing.

Letting a certain poison

wash me daily

 as I wrote with my pen.


I’ve questioned my right to live.

 I’ve questioned whether

I’ve anything left to give.

Anything I make,

I ask you to take-

 To like.

Because that’s who I am now.

 That’s about me.

 That’s what I’m about now.

M.L. Wright


Is it cheesy to make your about page a poem called “About”? Yeah, probably.



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