Posterity

What happens when I don't have class anymore?

When I'm not made to create, made to create those class things?

I am good at creating class things.

Usually the best.

But now, what about now? 

What will I make with these hands?

What will I see with these eyes?

Now that it's not a competition, I'm the only one competing. 

Well, competing with the world, but I don't think of it. 

Who will I create for?

Will I create for me? For selfish me? 

That's what it is now, and that's why it's my secret.

Will I create for someone else?

I hate the thought. I dread the thought. 

Not because I mind, but because I'll never get it right. 

My desires and feelings will always spill onto the paper.

What good is that too anyone if I can't control it?