Orenda

Sometimes I wonder if,

I am also in it for the clout…

But I think to myself

What is me without my pen?

I could never find an answer to that

All the breaking and making,

Has always occurred in paper

I think of myself in a world without magic

It was suffocating

I tried to find an identity away from nature

I no longer understood who I was

That is how I know, it was and never will be for the clout

But it is who I am.

In that thought I find solace.

But in the back of my mind I still wonder,

What if this is also for clout?

To make believe that I am different?