Pointless Conversations (The Sheds) Poem by Arthur H Rowley

Perhaps I became a writer
because I have little to offer this world
all dead weight
sleepless nights

I can see how from the outside
where I, weak and wordless,
watch you with steady, vacant eyes
what a disappointment I must be

and how in my head
I am all my fictional characters
and complex back stories
I am fight scenes, and love triangles, and the death at the end

perhaps this is why I have painted these tales on me
perhaps this is why we write
because on the outside; I am weak and wordless
perhaps that's why we are still here