modern day writer at lunch

the online writer
is always in crises;

worrying about whether
too much or too little
is revealed in the writing

wondering what unexpected
extrapolations may
potentially cause harm

fearing that she’s shown
too much too soon and should
work instead in quiet lonely darkness

is art supposed to be saved,
hidden away, until it can be sold?

you can see all of me in these
digital leaflets; some parts
are truer than others, of course,
but all of these parts are free

are these words less worthy
because they are not virgin
to readers’ sight in their
raw and natural form?

what am i trying to do here?
how many lunch-hour writing sprees
will it take to figure it out?

i know; i should not pretend not to know
(this is a thing i do often, and poorly)

i write here
to feel free

open in heart, in soul, in imagination,
forgetting about whether i’ll ever
be published by anyone anywhere ever
because the words are here
and we are connected
and it’s all free
and that’s all i’m looking for.

so what if it is
messy open-chested
self-imposed
literary
purgatory?

let’s be here.
let’s be free.
let’s be.