I sit in a still, quiet room.
While typing away I begin to grow weary... afraid...
My hands falter, and I pause.
Gazing out the window beside me I wonder,
"What is the point of trying?" "How can I be so presumptuous?"
"Who would possibly care about what I have to say?"

A few stale moments pass,
then I glance down at my notes.
Pages, among pages, and pages of a world,
of a single message...

I smile,
And open my blinds to the dazzling sunlight.
For once I do not bow to what I believe,
That I do not deserve to feel
Happy,
Or proud.

I continue on.
I continue on to tell the story
I want to tell.
I continue on to bring joy to others
That I feel for myself and my work.

And I hope that out there you do too.