I say I'm a writer,
 that words are my friends,
 but I'm not sure that's true.
 Sometimes words run away,
 always staying far enough ahead,
 just out of reach,
 so I cannot get a grip
 on things I want to say.
 Other times I run away from the words.
 
 
 Wanting to spread them along the path
 for all and sundry, so they see  
 what hides inside me is perhaps  
 the same as what hides in them,
 yet afraid that the words might reveal
 something very different  
 from what I'd intended.
 Because we all read  
 from our own experiences,
 a random thought put to paper
 might sound like a desperate cry for help,
 instead of a moment of melancholy,
 or a fleeting vent of anger seem to
 project a lifetime of discontent.
 
 
 I cannot control others,
 how they read, experience, and think.
 Sometimes I cannot control myself.
 So I let the words run where they will,
 until we are running in circles,
 not knowing who is running away from whom,
 and hoping when they finally stumble,
 the words will not fall flat upon the page
 bleeding ink in the rain.
 
 

~Elise Skidmore ©2021

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