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.