“I’m not a blogger,” says she.
I just write when I need to get in touch with the inner me.
I’m not a blogger, I can’t write daily posts.
I laugh when I think about it, who me write a blog? What a good joke.
I can’t grammatically organize words I’ve held within?
Why can’t I just journal, and then click send?
Who wants to hear what I have to say?
After all, I observe, think, and then record life’s happenings for the day?
I journal secrets of embarrassing moments no one else can know.
I write sweet nothings about my man because I love him so.
Bloggers are authors who lyrically create while all I can write about is how bad my heart aches.
Stacks full of notebooks and pads that describe me, a tell-all, reveal all, and unfortunately, it’s all free!
Bloggers speak their truth and post with glee,
but just the thought of commenting makes me want to flee.
I can spew out more excuses of what I think myself not to be
or I can click post…
Well.. Here’s to introducing me!