I say it again;
do not fear the pencil.
The earth is around me,
I am in a bowl.
I wanted to write everything.
There is so much,
but start small.
When I walk closer to the door,
I hear running water
crush
Or today, when I cleared my mind,
raindrops and stray globules fell
plodding and patting leathery leaves
behind me,
I almost climbed a dead tree
to sit in the seat is offered
but it was slippery from rain
and the wood was weak,
so I pushed my legs back into the wind.
Write only honestly,
do not lie about your thoughts.
It shows.
So, you may wonder what you are doing
a few times every month
as your mind settles and clears,
But keep pushing the lead
away from your heart
Although it moves more slowly
than the return to the next line,
this is what you have decided to do.
You may not wear a mask,
you may not write for fame,
nor for beauty, nor fluidity.
It is you writing you,
the pencil suspended in your hand.
Or, write the lies
you live as well,
it’s all elegant truth.