Grind

I am a great writer.
It hit me today after reading poems I wrote a year ago.
I am a great writer.
And it was more than that.
This feeling I felt.
It was prolific.
It was sound.
I have already done what I came here to do.
Everything from this point on is extra.
I am immovable.
I am unstoppable.
I will not.
I cannot.
Stop becoming the greatest writer who ever lived.
Who ever put pen to paper.
Who ever had an idea and captured it and wrangled it and pulled it apart,
Until it was mine.
And then it was yours.
I am a great writer.
Let that ring for a moment.
I am a great writer.
Let that sing.
I am a great writer.
You don’t get to tell me I’m not.
I don’t allow it.
I don’t give you that power.
I am a great writer.
It doesn’t matter if I sell 1 copy.
It doesn’t matter if I sell 1 million copies.
It doesn’t matter if I become poor from the pursuit.
It doesn’t matter if I become rich, synonymous with the craft.
It doesn’t matter because I know.
In the very core of my person.
In the center of my chest.
In the middle of my brain.
That I am a great writer.
Who are you?