Yesterday, I had something to say.
I’m not sure what it was anymore.
I want to pull out my poetry.
People who write poetry are often afraid of criticism. At least I was. I’m not talking about poets, just people who write poems.
I’m no poet, but I want to write, so I’ll pull out my binder full of sheets torn out of random notebooks over the years.
I only write for children these days, but my youth was full of sad musings of a misunderstood girl, of responsibility, of inner struggles, of loneliness and other things.
It’s time to learn and grow. Time to let out the child, trip and fall so I can walk, maybe run, maybe fly.