For so long I've been an author,
Letting a pen and a piece of paper be my voice,
Busy telling the world how to live,
Bringing reality in a blink of an eye,
Now I have a claim to make,
To let go of my million drafts.

From novels about the mighty ones,
The time when Romeo and Juliet defeated love,
Till where Cleopatra died in vain.
Isn't that when love had a meaning?
Unlike now when we can't even tell who we love!

As the old saying goes,
"True love isn't about the number of kisses... but it's the feeling that still lingers long after the kiss is over",
Well now I think I understand the meaning behind that,
But sadly I wrote too many drafts to give.

Not so long my text was full of " Till the end of time",
But somehow I realised the drafts are worth than my own life,
Now I've decided to let go and give in,
Not in the meaning of love but through the jurisdiction that says I am my own,
Now I believe new pages are worth my sacrifice.

I wrote everytime I felt miserable,
Telling you how much I felt you,
Though every word I said never reached your destination,
I still took it upon my time to make you human,
But then what was my bargain?
A need for counselling?
Tears to roll down the same cheeks you kissed?
Well, it's too much but ain't really worth it same as you.

As I turned pain into poetry,
To relate the story of my life through pages,
Little mix of war raging red,
Million weapons from my million drafts,
Well, pain turned into life sacrifice,
While I built up a future by my fate,
My million stories unfolded.

© Adelyn Moliepe