I know you are scared
to put your words on the page because how do you top your past laurels?
Forget that. Just know, I am here waiting for what you write next
and for me you are always everything.
No one is perfect, but do you know how much dies every time you shut up the wells of your soul?
Deserts are made of the dust that piles down the way waiting for you to write again.
So, please don’t close your spring, break your pen, kill your gift, muffle your voice and bury your words.
Bring them: boring and plain, imperfect and frayed, flawed and promising,
We are waiting.