To be or not to be is not a question.

I intended,
To become,
A poet,
At any point,
Of time,
Thy all,
Seem to think,
It was a choice,
To be made,
Yet the choice,
Was not mine,
It made itself,
And in that,
It made me,
I never desired,
To be a poet,
It happend,
What I wished,
Longed for,
Only thousand years,
Was to be,
Someone else's poem,
No one loved me,
No one wrote,
For you can not write,
About a girl so broken,
No words exist,
You can not rhyme,
Words with someone who,
Does not love herself,
So poetry I cried,
Tears to paper forming words,
For those longing,
To be written about,
To be remembered,
Even when they,
Are so easily forgotten.

He is exactly the poem I wanted to write - Mary Oliver.

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