They said I couldn’t write,
My stories and pieces,
Tossed aside like discarded trash,
Too repetitive,
Too messy
Too rushed

But I don’t care what they think
of my writing or me,
It is mine.
Not theirs.
My pen is not commanded by them,
And neither is my heart.

MY writing is MY thoughts,
MY words and emotions,
And MINE to command.
While I take their comments into account,
Still,
They will not stop me
Or my pen from flying across the page
And proving them wrong.