Confession: I Write

I’m truly unworthy of this gift
This gift of thought and word, expression and belief
On some days like today, I actually can write
And on other days like yesterday, I’m shrinking behind this flashing pointer
These lines are not planned or deliberately rhythmic
My inner being is in control while the outer woman writes
What it writes, it does not know
The next line may look like quite a show
I’m lost in it and there seems to be no finding me
This is who I am, I accept it. I write.