Dear Independent Poet

Dear Independent Poet

I want to be a writer.  What a trite sounding sentence that is.  

It is not new. I have always wanted to write. The first time I ever wrote as an adult was on an anonymous journaling app. And I think it helped me find a little bit of my voice. 

And now I am blogging. And words are slowly starting to fall into their right places on the page. 

No great masterpiece. No brilliant plot driving me on. No poems as good as yours. 

But a person or two have read my blog. And are encouraging me. Not that Writing is a new idea to me. Just that it has taken 49 years to work up the courage to just whisper the words… 

I want to be a writer. 

To even imagine a book. A real book. Though I don’t have any idea what it might be. Just a glimmer I’m catching in the corner of my eye. 

And I thought of you. Your words so much more elequent, sensual, raw, than mine. Dancing on your pages. While mine are clumsy and tend to trip and stumble. To lose their way (often before they find the page where I intended them to be.) 

I didn’t mean for this to be a poem or an addition to my catalog of blogs (what an ugly word…) but it seems to want to be just that. 

I see your poems and stories and books and think …. maybe ….. maybe it is not completely out of reach. 

Because I want to be a writer. 

I want to write. 

I want. 

I want. 

I will. 

Write.