sharing my poetry was a big deal.
I use to write whatever came to mind and store it away, for no reason at all. Then, one day I was convinced to share it on my blog, which later led to the creation of East Coast Insomnia. Oh yes, that was a big step. Now, however, sharing my poetry is second nature. Why? It isn’t like the writing is any less mine, and any less revealing of my thoughts. No, I suppose it is much more complicated than that.
The truth is, I know exactly why. I don’t pour my deepest secrets and feelings into my poetry that I share. I only reveal the first few layers of flesh, and even those are encrypted in impossible rhymes and themes unknown. No, the muscle and nerves are left for dusty journals and short stories only beheld by D, my boyfriend.
I’m a big deal, my writing, I know. I could be well-known, one day after several more years of education and exposure. The only true question is, will I ever really be able to share the organs, the truest nature of my script? Will I ever share my heart with the world?