A writer
A writer
By Nicole Meyer
I am a writer.
I cannot but write
Of thoughts that cannot be heard
among the routines of my existence
And the banalities of my day-to-day
regime
Where my true thoughts are not
welcome
For reasons of appropriacy
And my tongue that seems unfit at
times to express what is going on inside.
But when I write,
I immediately feel understood,
As though the mere attempt to express
my inner thoughts
Gives rise to my inner tsunami
Which breaks upon the shores of these
white pages
And yet with each attempt
It seems in vain
To write
If
Indeed
No one should read,
As though the waves come over this
page
And wash all the words and all that I
am trying to say
Away.
And yet we who call ourselves writers
Do so merely because it is what we
do.
We write.
We cannot but write.
To you.
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