Death and His Pawn

I have been writing for as long as I can remember, but never on a professional basis. There is never a time when I don't have a poem in my head, waiting to be written. A blank page is the only safe place to express emotion. It’s a work of fiction, right? Sometimes, Sometimes not. And therein lies the beauty, tragedy, and anonymity. I currently work as an English teacher, and it keeps me connected to my love of the English language, and words in all their beauty. I wish I’d had the confidence, the opportunities, and the drive, to develop a career in the writing field early on in my life. But maybe it’s best that I didn’t. Now words are my love, my passion; and I don’t have to subscribe to anybody else’s idea of merit. I don’t have to fit into a mold that wasn’t constructed with me in mind. I write only because I bleed words from every pore. And to stop writing would be to stop doing the only thing that has ever stayed with me in this terribly temporary world. Some might read my words and see melancholia. Some might see beauty. As long as they don’t see me.