I continue to find safety and refuge in my writing,
And right when it’s feeling at its most indirected and purposeless,
It finds its cozy use again;
Right when I am turning most inward,
And dwelling again on the on-going struggles,
Returning to repetitive compulsions,
And the headaches and isolation which that causes,
That’s when writing and creativity are a shining light again,
And often at its most rewarding.
I wasn’t going to post something today,
Since I’ve been busy chasing ancestry,
I’m working on a little project, a kinda flight of fancy!
But then I realised…
I’ve written every day since the 8th of January,
So I looked in my drafts and found this poem,
And I wonder if…they would’ve been proud of me?