Dealing with the inner and outer critic-

 A poem-

Somedays words, in all their glory, texture, taste, touch and sound overwhelm my fingers, overtake the page and swallow me whole.

And this is OK. 

Spilling out words in an avalanche means there are at least ideas on a page. There might even a glimmer of a voice inside them.

 

Too many means there might be SOMETHING worth keeping AFTER, the first, then the second then-oh who keeps count-round of edits.

 

It’s never perfect.  

It’s art. 

It’s a feeling. 

It’s a moment I MUST share, for some odd reason. 

 

Why? 

Because, if I don’t write I’ll explode, or simply fade away.  They really are the same thing if you think about it.

 

So, yes. 

My writing might-at least at the beginning of a project-overwhelm. 

I’m fine with that.  

The manuscript might even feel too heavy after a few drafts. That’s OK too…

 

It’s all OK.  Because I am writing. 

I have started something that needs to BE. 

Heck, I might even one day finish it and that is perfection, even if it isn't perfect.