Do I become a writer? How do I become a writer?

Obviously, I write. First and foremost.

But what topic(s) shall I choose? What new insight into the world, conveyed in my native and rather over popular tongue, can capture someone else's attention?

And therein lies one crux of the issue. Attention.

Writing, or any other art form, whilst primarily an exorcism of expression, ultimately seeks attention.
The sheer act of projecting outwardly ones inner thoughts, in any form, will somewhere within the psyche seek attention.
The search for another to resonate with; to feel one's inner dialogue is validated through a stranger's eyes, is a deep part of the creative's make-up. Even the most concentric of beings will covertly seek attention or be pleased with unasked for attention.
The fear of  rejection through inattention may plague and gnaw at a an artist's centre.

This is especially true if the creative becomes public property. Open to all levels of scrutiny.
The wounding of negative scrutiny  is the price of a little praise. 

If I write, I may receive attention - it's not a given. If I do, I will be criticised, whatever the topic.

Can my inner Narcissus take it?

Can I write, is the next question?....Or should my ego have considered that first?.....

One day I will write a cheery ditty
To dispel feelings rather shitty
Til then I must be strong 'n' gritty
And wait for thoughts all nice 'n' pretty.

Written by a Knitty Witty.

One day I hope to write
A cheerful little ditty
On that day
I will be so full of joy
I will be lost for words
And see only colours
And I will paint again.

My Demon...

The silent, creeping thing
Of demonic darkness is
Slow and patient.

Sitting silently and oh so carefully
Unpicking the threads
Of a once brilliant mind.

It's breath is a subtle
Gaseous poison
Enveloping me.

Inhaled awake or dreaming
Seeping into every pore and cell
Of my physical, mental
And spiritual Self.

Until there is no Self left to perceive
By anyone, least of all me.

Silently screaming
My pain out
Into the ether.

Breathe

Release the tension
From my heart
From lungs

Breathe

Oh, to scream out loud
To let the pain
For real

My silent, secret tears,

Seen only by strangers,

Are little prisms of sadness,

Refracting my emotions,

Of a love lost.

Life was brilliant and bright with you,

Now, without you,

Even the sunrise is dull.