A Book in My Brain

I have a book in my brain.

The aura is misty and the idea vague.

It rumbles around inside me, bumping into bits of me,

Sometimes my hear flutters, sometimes my stomach churns.


I put endless cups of tea to my lips.

Waiting for the book to emerge, revealing itself.

It appears to play hide and seek, a taunting playful child,

The more I try to capture it, the more it flees.


I type saving and recycling my writing to the extras folder.

They are doomed not again to see the light of day.

I wonder why I chose to write, to delve into the mess inside me,

To find the courage to speak my truth.


I write to set myself free.

Opening the door for others to also be free.

To be transparent, openly sharing the pain and the learning,

To help, to heal.


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