I used to be a writer.
Words and phrases filled my head,
but life happened and after a while,
that part of me seemed dead.
From time to time I thought I could write
so I stared at blank pages and screens,
but no matter what I did or tried,
words wouldn’t come to me.
I grew up and out and older
Years busy with people and things
Writing words down was part of my past
A distant and forgotten pipe dream.
Then muses came whispering early one morning,
but I didn’t quite understand.
My head was so foggy and I had stopped listening
Only silence my so-called friend.
But tiny tiptoes of feeling stirred in my soul,
and thoughts buzzed round in my brain.
I listened to hear the breeze in the air,
and I heard the whispers again.
Some thoughts were fleeting
and others had meaning
Beginnings of poetry and prose
Whimsied half-truths in a rainbow of hues
Yawning, unfurling, exposed.
Pencil leads snapping and fingers click-clacking
as life-giving words flowed free.
Taking deep breaths and opening my eyes
because now I can finally hear me.
Midlife Natalie 