I never truly walked away from writing…
yet somehow, I drifted away from myself.
I try to resist, I try to stay whole,
but endless invisible threads
pull me back against everything I am.
And just when I believe I’ve finally escaped,
I return… bound once again
by stubborn verses of poetry,
that refuse my need to flee,
that bend me gently between their lines,
and lock me softly within their letters.
As if every time I lose my way within me,
writing quietly leads me…
back to who I am.