Writing is like a building,

with a roof made up of love

a wall of hatred.

I’m a writer,

I might pinch or punch your ceilings,

Do not describe my words as your feelings,

I have the word you have the feelings.

Not yet old, but still a young lad.

Needn’t praise yet or a windfall,

The Lord hath sent the lofty rainfall.

I was taught how to read not write.

Now that I do both, I own a light