God, there’s a part of me that only talks to You through writing.
Is that wrong, or is that the part of me You made exciting?
I think it’s neat most of the time. I can say how I care.
But it can be problematic in not being able to share.
It’s just so hard to open up and trust. The world is scary.
But I have to get it out somehow, the burden that I carry.
Poetry, diary, short stories, and more I have to write.
I have to get it out, say it in so many ways, till I get it right.
People love my talent, my gift they say I am blessed with.
But rich, famous or not, they have no idea the gift it is.
I learn from me, I confide in me, and only You can see.
And when I feel I have to share, I set it free.
And yet I don’t have to repeat myself with the same news,
Freeing me of the guilt or shame in telling even You.
If anyone is interested in how I feel, they will read it.
If not, I don’t care. Fame, fortune, and attention I do not need.
I just need to write, to put my pen to the paper and flow.
I just have to feel like at least You and I care to know.
So as I write this poem about us, I finish up by saying,
I love it most when I’m personal, when my pen is praying.
For in that treasure I leave behind the secrets of my soul
That can help my son or others keep from losing control.
Just to know someone else felt the way they did
Will have made it all worth while, my writing gift.

1-4-2001 Sunday
Written by Gail Brookshire