2022-2023, Poem

On Writing (Unrevised)

On Writing (Unrevised)
Anka Chiorini, '23

As a writer, I am proud.

I am proud of my prose-y verse
And my poorly punctuated prose.

I am proud of my plays,
Typed in identical times new roman font.

I am proud of my revisions,
Cutting a sentence here, framing it better there.

I am proud of my one liners,
An occasional– ok, maybe not occasional– sarcastic joke thrown into a paragraph.

I am even proud of my rambling writings
That always turn into meditations on the concept of writing.

As a writer, I hold my head up high.

I walk through the halls smiling because I have a secret.
Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a writer.

I sit in boring classes thinking about rephrasing this line or that line
Or how to make the punchline in sentence three hit harder.

I wear my writership as a badge of honor,
One awarded to those who write.

As a writer, I struggle to write.

I sit in class staring at a blank document.
I sit at home staring at a blank document.

I take out a comma here or change this word,
To replace actual writing in my day.

I write pieces about how much I don’t like writing,
Because I can’t think of anything else to write.

I watch my cursor go in and out
And reuse phrases and sentiments from pieces I’ve already written.

As a writer, I worry.

I worry that I can not sustain quality writing,
That one day I will not be able to write anything worth reading.

I worry that I won’t be able to write as an adult,
That it will break my heart eventually.

I worry that I have nothing to say,
Nothing to put on paper.

But as a writer, I am proud.