Writers 
I became that which I thought.
The mirror reveals what we do;
it does not create,
it only reflects.
The bulb gives light
according to the switch we choose—
on or off.
The innocent ink speaks quietly,
yet boldly declares
everything we write.
And I am what I think.
Just as the mirror cannot lie,
my actions tell the truth
of what my mind has rehearsed.
Just as the bulb’s light
depends on the switch,
my life and actions
depend on my choices,
my decisions,
and the thoughts I entertain.
The ink may be silent,
but it leaves a lasting voice;
so does the mind.
Though its thoughts may not be loud,
their effects are often deafening.
And then…
I thought to myself:
Why am I still blaming the mirror
for the reflection I created?
Why am I waiting for the bulb
to switch itself on?
Why do I keep writing
what I pray my life will erase—
words that frighten my destiny
and leave scars on my becoming?
I stopped.
I had been knocking on the wrong door,
hammering the wrong nail,
and imprisoning the wrong offender.
So, I changed what I asked my mirror to show.
I switched on the light myself.
I picked up the pen
and wrote the life I desired.
And then,
the door opened.
I became
that which I thought.
