Writing is a long walk down a dark alley without a pepper spray ... It’s vulnerability, new to the ballet class, standing on the tip of its toes .. It is an eye directly exposed to a solar eclipse.
Writing is a long dive down the Mariana Trench without an oxygen tank ... It’s daggers cutting through lungs, and lungs cutting through ribcages .. It is an inflamed heart.
Writing is a craft: building the inflamed heart a rocket, and flying it two constellations out of its comfort zone without a map ... It’s a broken maze with the last name of a study guide .. It is fingers stuttering.
Writing doesn’t feel good ... but my best friend taught me that adrenaline rushes post working out .. so I put up with it, and run an A4 paper.