If I didn’t write
at night the words would force themselves
out between my lips in sleep.
They would creep across the pillow,
trickle down the stairs,
burst through the front door and out into the street,
or jostle through the back door
to festoon themselves in the tree branches.
To save them from this I sit, put pen to paper,
gaze out of the window at the birds in the tree,
or put on my boots and walk through the rain
in search of a story, to give them a voice.
My first blog post, a lot of blood, sweat and tears to create the platform, and an entry for Week 1 Thanet Creative Writers competition