Who Am I to Write?

Who am I to write
It keeps me up at night
This thought that I don’t matter
Serves only as my ladder

To dark depression, utter unrest
Believing I’ve failed too many tests,
But let’s take a look at this negative dive,
Perhaps the severity indicates lies?

If I did not matter, why would I care?
Why would it hurt me and make me despair?
It could be a tension, a pull of direction
To see this contention in grander dimension.

Without good there’s no bad
Without ugly no beauty
Without war, what is peace?
From neglect, value duty.

So perhaps it’s a gift, something further to drive
That when “I don’t matter” I fail to thrive.
This mattering piece is ingrained in my soul.
Without it my matter lit’raly can’t pay the toll. 

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