The poetess holds her head
in her hands and sighs
The angel of inspiration
looks at her and asks:
What’s the matter, my dear?

The poetess answers:
What if I am not important
What if my words are not important?

The angel smiles:
You are just you
Words are just words
It’s the ego
that tends to value
and to categorize

Words are everything
and they are nothing
at the same time
They are all as well
important as unimportant
For it is the hand
of the writer
that makes the poem

Only you can give
meaning to yourself



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