A blank page

I've been going through a slump lately, My words crumbled before ink hit the paper, My creative prowess stagnant it was the worst of times, but it was the best of times because the calm allowed me time to think "who are you"? When the pen stops working "who are you"? When book runs out of paper "who are you"? When the well of admiration runs dry "who are you"? I don't who i am yet, I'm much too young for that, but I know what I strive to be, a man, not a brute but a man, one who will be kind to the best of his ability, i strive to not just be a good friend but a good brother cause my friends are my family, i strive for my writing to be looked at with favor and for my name to reach the heavens that I don't even believe in, i strive for this poem to not just be ramblings to the sky but something my eldest self will look at with a smile on his face, reminiscing on days gone by and rest easy with pride as he thinks to himself "that's who I am".