Writing

September 22, 2020

Writing washes clean the sins of my heart.

Giving voice to the good, bad, and ugly parts.

Allows me to share times when I swam with sharks.

I get lost in it, stopping is the hard part.

I have been to some dark places that are hard to revisit.

Encouraged to go out on a limb, publish this.

My work is so personal, I am sensitive about my sh*t.

But I will never know if it was worth it, If I never go through with I.

Writing has become my closest companion, a pen now my best friend, my only friend.

It’s like I fall into a pool of writing, when I surface a new poem is written.

Re-reading it as if I was not there when it was written.

So much to share, yet stifled by the fear within.

I was told by a dear friend that if I shared my poetry, I would free myself.

I felt that, I’ve been a prisoner to fear holding my me back from sharing my greatest wealth.

What’s the harm of doing something to better myself?

Put a few coins in my pocket, put my book on a shelf.

I deserve for good things to come from my gift of writing.

I’ve been through it, maybe words can help someone else hurting.

Keep them from spiritually dying, encourage them to stay in the fight, keep trying.

Got to push through this fear, too much positive praise for everyone to be lying.

Until then, (sigh) I guess I will keep writing.

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