Writing

I’m just tired,

Sitting here.

But I set my pen on the page,

Anyway.

And I write.

At first it’s just what’s whirling though my head.

Why I really don’t want to be writing right now,

How tired I am,

Or What happened today.

But then the words coming from my pen,

Start to turn into a poem,

Or my world slowly becomes Gabby’s,

Nicky’s,

April’s

Destiny’s,

Elizana’s,

Or Allison’s.

And when I’m done,

I stand up to leave,

I am strangely filled with life.

Exhilarated,

Fully awake,

In tune with what’s happening around me,

Alive.

This process has cured a couple headaches,

And more bad moods than I could count.

It’s a special gift from God.

That I wouldn’t ever trade.

(Did I mention I’m tired? Oh, yeah, I did. Never mind…)

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