Maudlin Penguin 


April 18, 2020

Ok. I am a writer.


Think about black hair. How much ever you bleach it, the roots never lie. And it is maddening to make them lie. They'd grow out the same chocolate coffee shade again. Being a writer is exactly that- You can't keep it in for long.

In my treasure trove, I have heaps of letters, written to long unseen friends. Or to people who wouldn't call me a friend. I have loads of therapy letters too, written never to be posted. And certainly, half a dozen of semi-filled journals. Like Elsa, I tried to keep it in. I told myself, I ain't gonna be a loner Emily Dickinson. (Of course my dear reader, you shan't beware of these loners. I don't, won't quote them and bore either you or me).
However, I'd wager, even poor Emily didn't have much of a choice there.


 Writing is compelling.