Sometimes I feel as if I do not matter,
As if my opinions have no effect on anyone.
Whatever I do, whatever I try, I fail.
And when I succeed it is only by pure luck, an invisible four-leaf clover that appears rarely.
Clumsy and hard to understand, I am almost transparent.
But when I grip a pencil to my hand, when I take out a crisp, white sheet of paper, I am tangible again.
I write from within myself, within my soul, what matters to me.
And this time, I am not afraid of what others think, or what they say or do.
I only need a pencil and a sheet of paper to make myself believe that I am real.
I only need a friendly face, a beautiful sunset, a smile full of teeth, to make me understand that I am not alone.
I only need what I already have, and for that, I am grateful.