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Yes ma’am. That’s why we write. Because it fucking hurts

A deeply felt thank you to my dear friend Old Punk.  Your keen eye, wisdom, sense of humor, endless compassion and well-timed kicks in the ass mean more me than I can ever express.

I know that I apologize too much

for the things I say

for the things I write

for the things I do

for not caring enough

for caring too much

for bleeding a little too much

on the screen

for breathing

for existing

past the age of 30

which I never envisioned happening

and that I don’t feel that the universe

quite approves of

and may still demand retribution

 

I am trying to stop apologizing

for anything and everything

and instead start expressing my gratitude

when you listen

when you read my words

when you forgive my actions

accept the caring I do have to offer

hand me the bandages

allow me the space to breath

encourage me to keep existing

remind me that I have gravity

that my writing speaks to people

when you hold vigil

while I continue this painful

wrenching rebirth

that is full of danger

tears

dark thoughts

and darker humor

and for reminding me that we write

because it fucking hurts

 

 

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58 thoughts on “Yes ma’am. That’s why we write. Because it fucking hurts”

  3. Wow. This so much mirrors a personal essay I posted thus morning entitled, “Why I Write: Literary Childbirth”. I’m constantly amazed at how the Universe seems to inspire themes in cycles among people that have little or no connection to each other. Thanks for letting me know there are others who can relate with my struggles.

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