OK. I am trying. It has been a long while since I just wrote for me, and it still feels awkward – a bit painful. I started walking regularly about a year ago. It took me a good part of of the year to get into shape. I remember how my body hurt when I started. That’s how it feels to write. I’m out of shape. But I know I need to write. I feel like a well that has not been dug; a source of water that hasn’t been tapped. I have a lot of feelings, emotions, opinions, and knowledge (wisdom?) bottled up inside – screaming to get out. But I’m afraid. Saying what I really feel has been risky. I don’t take rejection well, even if I don’t show it.
So . . . I write for me.
My first project – 30 poems in 30 days during the month of April. My adventure continues.