Blank sheet of paper,
beckoning promise,
surge of plots.
Didn’t all award-winning works
start out this way?
Open,
empty,
uncharted by the quiescence
of words.
My inner voice
is giddy.
I am one of the lucky ones,
not dodging cruel words
some reserve only
for themselves.
My hand lifts,
my pen practices a few swirls in the air,
and that kind voice
inside me whispers:
if them,
why not you.