I’m A Writer

“You’re a writer, right?”

“No, I just scribble.”
“Shut up! You are”
“I don’t write always. I don’t even write for a living. What makes you tag me a writer?”
“The way you look at things & feel what others don’t.
Yes,
You may run out of thoughts at times,
Your pen may fail to make love with the sheet lying just in front & it’s okay.”
“My pen bleeds and my heart aches,
And you call me a writer.
I’ve seen writers, so happy and satisfied in their own world.
And here I am laying down on ashes of my never ending thoughts.
You shouldn’t categorise me as a writer.”
“What?
You’re mistaken, you know nothing about them.
To write is to cry in silence,
Because for world you’re JUST writing,
But in reality you’re crumbling inside,
You’re playing with those memories and letting it out on papers.
You’re portraying the character same as you always wanted to be.
Do you think writing is easy?”
“If that’s so,
Yes, I’m a writer and proud to be living my moments in existence of my thoughts.
I write to live,
Not just to write.
If that makes me a writer,
“Writer I’m”