I may be new here,
but I am truly a ghost returning
to a craft I abandoned,
pages I avoided
a pen I dropped.
all due to fear.
I ran from writing,
from the jagged edges of a crisp pen tip,
the way words would tear my mind open.
so long gone,
gone for so long,
I forgot how to find myself
between margins and my breath.
this is my second chance at beginning,
rough drafts and trembling edits
but real words and stories.
a fierce clawing back
to speak up
clarify
experience joy.
each sentence my pen brings me
is a sure lifeline
every word a piece of me
I have been aching to share.
writing for me is the first time you come up for air
after you let the ocean envelope you
that pulsing adrenaline
pushing you to the surface
of everything that once held you down.
so here I am,
trying again.
a reckoning of a beginning.
this is what keeps me alive + breathing. a pen and a pulse is all I need.
