“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!


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