Unwritten

I am not a book you wrote about yourself
You can not write me in or edit me out
You can not read through these lines
Or paraphrase me with quotation marks
I’m not a word you struggle to find
Or your editor’s phone call about your deadline
I’m not a chapter that you cut short
Or a embellished lie you write as a last resort
And that rewritten paragraph you can’t quite get right
Frustrates you and keeps you up at night
I’m not a unfinished thought you fail to mention
Or a idea for a story that you question
I am not a working title you keep changing
Or a failed storyline for the ending
I’m not word you can’t think of
Or adjectives that you make up
Not a exaggeration of a night you had
Or a scattered memory from your past
All these things you wish I was
I don’t exist to complete yourself