it’s not about being published;
though that does bring some degree of satisfaction,
feathering my ego’s nest with soft white down.
it’s not a desire to be noticed;
all this visibility often makes me want to hide, sneak away
and pretend it’s someone else that does this.
it’s not about what you think of it,
though i’m glad if it speaks to you, or if you recognise
some of your life in the words.
it is about the overwhelming urge to write, write, write
thoughts scamper about, teasing my pen, mocking my hand
for not being able to keep up.
it’s about the feeling of expressing in short form
a feeling, a snapshot,
a life being lived outside of the page.
© 2010. leonie wise