Already Written

Who am I, a page, scraped blank.

Ready to be written, described.

My title is chosen, not by me,

Scribbled across my header-

That which will form my frame.

Restricted by rule and guide,

Flow designed to their pattern

Into a rhythm they decide.

One line amongst many, do I write

Not from their heart, but from my mind.

Though they scream for its deletion,

For it to be erased, forgotten.

My one source of inspiration-

Bought with acceptance and locked away

Upon the conclusion, I read through and revise

Rephrasing what I wished I would write

Though I know the words are written,

And no blot could stamp them out.

The pages are foreign �" the words are not my own.

The story I have lived, never was mine.

I discover that they had me already written.