My writing is my home

My writing is my home.

Sometimes it's warm and cozy like a lover's bed.

Another time, a dizzy rabbit hole.

I write about feelings,

tasting them for flavor and gathering them

while they are spilling wildly, creating a mess.

So what? Nothing that can't be fixed.

Undaunted, at my kitchen table,

I chop my words like carrots and zucchini,

adding in fresh verbs, and delicate conjunctions,

pouring over one cup of undiluted reason, mix it all vigorously,

allowing the mixture to percolate to reach full flavor,

at midnight, telling myself, “enough already; leave it.”

“Enough,” I say, stretched out on my sofa.

My body’s still, my mind is crawling,

swaddled in self-doubt. I’m dozing off.

I’m feeling blissfully at home.

* * *

Dear Readers, thank you for reading! I write mostly about love and meaning of life. Feel free to share stories with your loved ones. I also read my writing at public events as a professional performer. Special Thanks to Pam Mayer — my tireless friend, editor, and collaborator.