Publishing: the act of letting words flow from my fingertips to be read by anyone who cares to see them.
It's a difficult thing - letting go. Relinquishing
control over your creation and releasing it into the wild to be seen and
possibly misunderstood. Many of these poems were written with no thought of
anyone reading them, let alone everyone. They belonged to private worlds of thought
and emotion coalesced into words to make them clearer to myself, to organize my
wayward mind and pull sense from sensibility.
And now they will be public access. In anyone's hands, living in anyone's home. It's a strange feeling and it's an interesting journey I've taken from hoarding my most private, terrifying thoughts to publishing them for anyone to read. For people to sit and leaf through my grief over a cup of coffee. To peruse my trauma as entertainment. But it is a good place to be sitting, where I am now, wanting to share and finding that people are ready to listen. Validating, yes, but more than that, it closes the circuit of connection and brings us closer. Whether we are friends, family, acquaintances or strangers, we will have shared understanding between us and a spark of acceptance.
It's beautiful and I love that I now have a piece of work, a creation of my own, serving such a purpose in the world.
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