Member Poem

Of all the opportunities I've missed, 
I miss my potential the most.
The rain cloud has not moved from over me.
It feels like I'm in a ditch.
If ever you say that you understand how I feel,
please note that you are not a writer,
so you never will. 
Of all the sacrifices I've made, 
I've made the most to you.
The tiptoes of interruptions 
cascade through the room.
When will it be important enough?
Will I ever get my own room?
If ever you say that you understand how I feel,
please note that you are not a writer,
so you never truly do.