Now the doubt creeps in like a warning in the wind Am I sure I even heard it? After all, I've found my place, I've earned it plucking poems from my head like guitar strings or almost ripe fruit Sometimes they're good Sometimes they're almost music But some days I'm flagging Some days I'm dragging and the wind whispers in my ear telling me to let go telling me, "Come here, Come to the dark side where no one will see you and I'll sweep you away to some kind of safety called disappearance."
Writers are taking risks to create anything and share it, especially us introverts who would rather remain in the shadows. But writing is such a huge part of my identity that if I stopped, I feel like I would vanish. I’m grateful that I’ve found a small community of people who appreciate my work, but I still sometimes doubt that I have any real talent. I keep trying anyway.
Michelle Wicklow 