Risk

I have to really be honest this time.
How many pages have I written?
How many words?
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Where are they now?
Stuffed between the covers of books tucked safely away on my shelves.
That is where they will stay unless I do something about it.
And if I don't do something about it,
I might as well crawl inside next to them.
Stuff myself between the covers.
Sleep away the risks.

Fumble

How many times will I begin and then begin again? Backspace. No good. You can do better than that, Shawna. Someone may actually read this someday. I don't even know who you are and I fear what you may think of me. She doesn't have what it takes. She is certainly no Bob Dylan. His words were beautiful and they resounded truth in every line, whether it was a good line or not. That's the difference. Fear and truth don't mix well together. He had one. I have the other. When will I learn?

I know.

I know what you're thinking.

I'm sure taking a risk here.

A risk that you will not think those words and their writer false.

Ostentatious.

A risk that you will not pass the verdict on me before I try.

If you do, I won't argue with you and I won't try to prove what I haven't yet earned the right to prove.

Or , you could keep reading, in good faith.

You'll see...that's a big promise for a girl like me.

Big words. The biggest I've ever used.

But I intned to keep my promise.