I’m just tired,
But I set my pen on the page,
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,
And when I’m done,
I stand up to leave,
I am strangely filled with life.
In tune with what’s happening around me,
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…)