Why I do this

I love blank pages… my pen does too.

It’s pregnant with words and awaits for labour pains as I take my time to uncap it and begin the birth process.

My hand is the matron and my mind the doctor.

First print, the contractions are hard but excitement is brewing… I can’t control it.

Next thing you know more sentences are appearing… The baby is almost out.

My words tell a story no man understands but that’s the point.

I don’t need sympathy, no not at all. I just need space to allow growth to take place.. growth only I am in charge of and before you know it the baby is born.

My heart poured on paper… blank page no more.

I am a writer.

I write, I mean that’s what I do.

I think about writing [most] of the time… I think of different words I can group together and imagine how good they’d look on paper.

I can claim that I am shy but no one believes me so I play the part of loud chiq whi has something to say all the time…[just like they want me to]

But it’s okay… because it’s only when I hold a pen in my hand that I tell truths…

Dishing out words because that’s the only way I can be [real].

I love blank pages.

Ayoola Mè