Writer of The Night

It's 4:03, I should be in bed.
I stay up too late, writing stories in my head.

Being sleepy doesn't matter,
My ideas only get fatter.

The nights go on and on,
As I try my hand at writing songs.

I'm not too bad at it,
As long as I don't have to sit.

I've found I can't write in a chair,
I have to constantly move around everywhere.

I don't mind being awake so late,
I guess all my ideas just use the daytime to bake.

At night, they're ready to be jotted down,
I write them in scribbles with colored pencils I found.

I wonder sometimes who else in the world is up,
Maybe someone getting a drink to cure a bad case of the hiccups.

My dog follows me when I go downstairs to write,
Snoring and sprawled out on the floor, she's quite a sight.

I read my writings to her aloud,
She snores in approval and I fell proud.

I think someday I'll share my writing with the world,
Maybe I'll become famous and get my hair curled.