I Am

i used to write poetry…

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i used to write poetry
like i knew what i was doing
but
i never did
i still don’t

i’ve worn lost like a badge of honour
like a wayward explorer
but
really
i just don’t want to be found

i have stood
and listened
to the telling
at the yelling
and then i’ve silently sat
thinking ‘well, what about that?’

i have realised there’s lost
and then there’s lost
and they are not the same
one is a bit romantic
the other not so much

and maybe i’ve made excuses
even though i always say
‘never make excuses’
but
really
i think everyone does

people say
‘i wouldn’t do anything differently’
i used to say
‘i wouldn’t change a thing’
but
i absolutely would
do every thing differently
and
i absolutely would
change some things

i don’t have regrets
not because
i don’t have them
but
instead
because i choose not to think about them

when you can’t change what’s been
what’s the point of thinking about
what
could
have

i have found two places
where my mind can wander
unencumbered;
doing the dishes
and
standing under running water

i think time is irreplaceable
and there is none to waste
but
really
every now
and again
i zone out
doing the dishes
or
standing under running water
and i know
now
that is one of the most precious ways
to savour it

i live
and will die
by two words
back yourself

i will whisper
back yourself
every time
all the time
until
i
whisper
no
more

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I Am

I Used To Blog

I used to blog.

Once.

Before it became all cool and du jour.

I blogged, a few years back, when it was still a fairly new territory – when bloggers weren’t celebrities and no one knew just how far and wide this amazing online world could go.

I loved it. I loved the community that it created. The positivity it spread. The happiness it filled me with.

I’m forever grateful for my early blogging days; for the opportunities they provided me with and the growth they ensured.

But then I stopped blogging.

Because I just didn’t feel it anymore. Because I grew out of it. Because life lead me elsewhere. Because it seemed everyone had a story about how blogging had led them to some sort of success, and I don’t like sharing the same stories as others.

Because people got competitive. And negative. And I hate that.

I stopped because, wherever I looked, it seemed anyone and everyone was a blogger. Anyone and everyone was a writer, almost by default, simply because they had a blog. And I don’t think they are the same thing.

I blog, because I write. I don’t write to blog.

I am a writer. For me, blogging is the default. I stopped blogging because I began to resent being called a blogger. I wrote before I blogged, for years and years, and I wrote after I blogged. I never did it to be cool. Or to launch a career.

I did it because I love to write. And I’m good at it.

I resented being called a blogger because I seriously loathed being put into group that started to increasingly include sixteen year old emos that couldn’t spell, middle aged perverts and people seeking fame. Because, as with everything in life, when something is new and unknown and you’re doing it – you’re ahead of the pack. You’ve got vision. But when everyone is doing it, it’s old. It’s regular. It’s beyond passé.

And I don’t do regular.

But I always do what I love. And, as I’ve recently discovered, blogging is something I love.

I’ve missed it. And the community it creates. And the positivity it spreads. And the happiness it fills me with.

I’m now prepared, more assured of myself than ever, to be placed into a category that includes sixteen year old emos that can’t spell, middle aged perverts and people seeking fame because I know, and I’m not afraid to say, that I am not any of them. I’m not afraid to be a blogger.

Bad grammar, spelling, perverts and fame seekers aside – we’re a good bunch of people. Dedicated, inspired and utterly talented. And that’s a collective I’m more than willing to associate myself with.

So, here I am, a little older, a lot wiser and still full of words. I feel a strange nostalgia lining the blank page of a WordPress portal, but I also feel a slight tingling coming out of my fingertips as I hit the keys of my laptop, an occasional kick from a stray butterfly in my stomach – I’m excited, about new opportunities and new growth.

I’m excited to share it all with you.

I hope you’ll join me as I journey through life, right in the thick of it.

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