I write all of the time
But its not always meant
To be gazed at like a leper-
See my wounds, poke my sores.
It’s a space for my heart
To release the trapped thoughts
Ruminating ’round my head.
To untie the knotted
Feelings and illusions
That spring from the darkness
Of my untrained mind and
There’s no escape except
This shifting terrain of
Empty paper to pen.
But, no, “just because” is
No reason to expose
My heart for casual
Eyes or minds…idle in
Their observance, hasty
In their personal ends.
Better left unexposed
To be felt, then written,
Then never seen again.
Processed, released – careful
They don’t find life in you,
Begin their burrowing
Until they reach the core
A pressure formed within.
No, better kept quiet-
If you hear a knocking
Best not to let them in.
OverTheHillsAndFarAway 