Magic in my wand

Writing to me is more than picking up a pen and scribbling down words. Writing is magical, something ethereal. 

 Perching down to write is me crossing the boundaries between two worlds. Turning something unlovely into something lovely.

 My pen, my magic wand, I feel like Cinderella’s fairy godmother each time I hold this equipment, turning a pumpkin into a beautiful carriage.

 Pouring out my emotions bad or good, arranging words in order.

 The words become like clay in my hands.

 I, the potter making delicately designed pottery.

 As a writer you have a power not so spoken of, with just a pen and paper you can build another world.

 Writing is timeless, out of it, history is born.

 Without it physics, chemistry, are just crafted words born out of blabbering.

 I am proud to be a writer.

 I’ll write about rising and falling

 Good and bad times

 Truncating times and periods of growth.

 I will give minds a cause to wonder and wander. 

 Hearts a cause to flutter, race, skip and beat.

 The hairs on your body to stand at attention.

 Just with an ink on paper.

 Pupils to dilate and give way to tears.

 The muscles on your face to crease and expand.

 My name is Parvathyy, I am a writer and I am proud to be one.