I'm afraid to do well, to write a masterpiece because if I do~ by chance or luck~ where will it end? Next I'd be expected another and another and more until so many words will be pulsating in my head. I wonder often, what would come of me? If I were a labeled a poet or a writer of any kind would I change? Already I try harder, dig deeper for something wise that doesn't belong to my brain. Being me, I write about love, death, beauty of the world and angst. What more can I borrow from this world... this tiny world that I've comforted around myself. I guess I'll have to venture out... see the sights and taste the cuisines to ever give more. Until that bravery comes to me I'll write about what's in my little ole head and hope it gives you or even myself, a feeling of familiarity... of hope. Copyright © 2013 Stacy J. French~Roosa
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