Writing

the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it

I will be someday, 

gone, 

that is. 

When I am, 

I hope the pine needles still grow thick 

covered thick 

with snow. 

Writing for me is like a river of words flowing out of me. 

Sometimes raging other times calm and slow. 

Other times it is as if the otters living in the river have built a dam. 

Blocking the flow, 

My muscles are tensing.

I need to move,

I need to leave this place.

My life is mundane. 

My life is slow-paced.

I need something to happen.

My hands are shaking.

I need to scratch,

I've never been a fan of Four-Letter Words,

never seen the need for profanity,

and thought swears showed a lack of self control,

Now, I haven't changed my mind

but four-letter words are more than curses,

Am I right?

No,

You’re not always right,

Just suck it up,

Or yell at me, fight!