I can’t call myself a writer.
I’m not committed to words.
I commit to
expression
feeling
truth.
I’m committed to love
and the beauty and
pain of life herself.
Words sometimes bless me with their presence
and permit me to play with them,
and it feels damn good when they do.
It feels like life herself bursting forth
through me like the flower that grows
miraculously through the crack
in the concrete.
I don’t call myself a writer,
But I sure as hell can write.
Author: Ben Ralston
Editor: Renée Picard
Image: via the author
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