Pieces of me

Writing for me is not an option. I love swinging on vines of imagination, where anything is possible. Where I can be deep, dark and edgy or casual light and breezy or even weird and quirky. Where my tears shine like rain drops, my smiles brighten the world. Where I can feel and think and want and need sans judgement. Where I can break. Where I can heal. Its a place within that frightens me even when it makes me feel the most safe. What you read is not my reality. I am my writing but my writing is not me.