Society dragged me aside to let me know,
I have childish notions of being an artist,
A foolish path,
Ludicrous wants and ideas,
Plans of a dunce,
Or so am I led to believe,

Am I just pretending?
An impostor,
Doing the motions without understanding?
Wearing my silly apron,
With my silly pen,
Writing my silly little words,

When I string together webs of emotion,
Am I a creator?
When I put words to paper,
Am I a writer?
When I brush colour on to parchment,
Am I a painter?

I don’t know the truth of it,
Perhaps I do sully the name of wordsmith,
Playing at artistry,
Wearing a mask of competence,
Though I shake behind it,
Perhaps I am just pretending after all.

  1. “We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”― Ernest Hemingway. Your poem reminds me of the truism in Hemmingway’s quote. Great poem. I loved💖 the references to how other art forms illustrate the poetic art form. Cheers

  2. marandarussell says:

    This reminds me a lot of a poem in my first book of poems. I very much relate ♥

  3. Oh my, how cute 🥰

  4. judeitakali says:

    Deep, I’d say no, you ain’t pretending.

  5. jazzibee says:

    Throw away your doubts!

  6. Carol anne says:

    Beautiful! ❤ ❤ ❤

  7. melyssab79 says:

    Hmm. You write each day…..therefore you are a writer. Kick the inner critic who cries imposter to the curb and keep creating. You define you. Keep going.

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