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A little poem I wrote.


On Writing

What do I know?
I didn’t invent language
I can’t answer
For the way it rains
Clears the air, puddles in places
Generally, I avoid it with
An umbrella of busyness
Or I fall in, unwillingly
Wet and uncomfortably cold
Am I supposed to show this to people?
The aftermath of a cloudburst
In my head?
What can they know
About riding out storms
Hunkered down
With a flimsy keyboard
For protection
They read words
To laugh or cry, to relax
They want user friendly words
To dream or forget
What do I know?
I write words to survive.