To Be A Writer The voices are so loud One asks, what is the point? The other screams, we can't give up! Neither let me sleep Nobody is listening, one says They just can't hear you yet, the other insists Their incessant battle rouses me with the sun every Saturday morning We've been at it for years and nothing, one laments What's one more day? The other urges I take out my pen and paper Their silence is deafening, one whispers But it's not a "no", the other nudges I take a deep breath and begin to yell into the void yet again What if no one ever likes it? One worries But you already love it, the other states The sun sets, another day is gone Why am I always so tired? One asks Because your light burns the brightest when chasing a dream, the other says I lay down once again What is the point of fighting? One wonders What is the point of stopping? The other counters. I close my eyes but the voices are so loud Will it ever happen? One asks Not if we stop, the other says And so it begins again