With awkward ineloquent rhymes
I started breathing life into words I tattooed
Onto untold reams of pressed dead trees
When I was still learning how to tell my story
I held too much inside
I needed a pressure valve
An escape hatch for my muted voice
That had so much to say
But hid from the light of day
To hold space for my soul which felt so keenly
I juggled words in my mind
Like a magician rolls coins across his knuckles
A dance of language
Choreographed to the rhythm of heartbeats
Raw and unrefined
But as necessary as air
I worried about those early musings
Sure they were self-indulgent nonsense
Important to no one but me
But that was the point
The words were important to no one but me
The way they should be
If others understood them
If others were moved by them
Then I was doing something extra that was right
I gave my voice the space to tell my story
Released my experience as art
Defined by my own rules
A baby poet learning how to
Let her storyteller heart fly
-gws
Words Wishes and Wisdom 