I can’t call myself a writer.

I’m not committed to words.

I commit to

expression

feeling

truth.

I’m committed to love

and the beauty and

pain of life herself.

Words sometimes bless me with their presence

and permit me to play with them,

and it feels damn good when they do.

It feels like life herself bursting forth

through me like the flower that grows

miraculously through the crack

in the concrete.

I don’t call myself a writer,

But I sure as hell can write.

Author: Ben Ralston

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: via the author