fistfuls of heart

Fistfuls of Heart If everyone has something to say, how is a writer different? The desire to write, to commit words to paper, is like deciding to let your own arm reach down your throat and muck about with your insides, grabbing fistfuls of heart, teeth, and half-digested longing, and pull it out for everyone to see. And I wonder why I have some resistance… Just sit in the chair, they say. Just write. And I do, but I’m dodgy about it. There is always something safer to do, like laundry, for example, that extracts no blood at all. Maybe all prophets and storytellers are reluctant – I don’t know about that – but I know that there comes a time when there is a clamor of words in order from within, saying – Hey, write me down! and they harass me till I do. © Margaret Barkley, April 16, 2015 ]]>

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