A lifetimes work

Had a nightmare late last night
You told me not to write
You told me not to waste my time
There I stood with pen and ink
Trying in vain not to think
That somehow those scribbles were mine.
Waking up, nearly cried,
As darkness to adjusted my eyes
Clutching to my pillow for dear life
When even my self conscious says
My writing is better dead
How can I expect more from you?
Can’t help but keep up the mess
If I can’t write for me, ill write for you, in the future tense
For one day, ill meet you with a notebook, oh my best
And I have to hope that I won’t find
I’ve wasted a whole lifetime.