Why
don’t I
write
more often?

I was writing
daily,
often hourly.
At times,
my fingers flew
across the keyboard,
as I had much to say
and never enough time
to say what was needed.

What happened?
Why did I stop?
Was it fear?
Was it concern?
Was it worry
about exposing myself
and what that looked like?

If I don’t say anything,
then nobody can accuse me
of being
or sounding like
a fool.

It’s safe here
in my hidden hideaway,
my harbor,
nestled
next to
giant oceanliners.

But being
in the harbor
is not
what ships
are designed
to do.

Neither am I
destined to be still
or silent
or quiet.
I have words to write,
right?
Right words
to proclaim.

If I don’t
speak up,
then I will be
left out,
and will
have wasted
my talents
and abilities.

Those
who could have been helped
by me,
must instead
find their own path,
listened to other voices.

I hope they are as kind as I would have been