Why I write

Stories take you places.

Everyone knows that.

I learned it so early that Time-Outs became playtime.

 

Bits and pieces fall together.

Stick onto each other

A glob of ideas

Pressure builds on my skull

 

My pen is my trephine

Releases the gooey, sticky mess onto paper.

Later, I will pull it apart,

Make sense of it all,

But now, I just marvel that I completed the operation.

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