I’m feeling inspired to write again
I tell him.
He looks at me with a pained expression,
And asks if we’re ok
Yes, I lie.
Straight to his face. Eye to eye.
Fine.
He knows the truth.
I am untangling knots, picking them apart with my mechanical pencil
Click click click
pick pick pick
It makes him uncomfortable-
My introspective searching
Quiet Contemplation.
He is Threatened
by my creative Expression
And the eager teachers that I attract
Disrupting our delicate balance
With their beards and intellect
I still burn my drafts after I post. Part of my creative process for many reasons