This is a part of my writers closet series. It’s the first piece, but I’ve dedicated a considerable amount of time to writing about how difficult I find it to share my writing. It’s easy to schedule a post and share it with strangers I’ll probably never meet, but I have good friends who it might surprise to discover I write poetry or run a blog dedicated to my writing journey.
Creative minds are sensitive. I can handle criticisms, but I can’t handle negativity. My anxiety-riddled mind always fears the worst. With the friends who know I write, all we talk about is my planned projects, my novel, my poetry, my history as a rapper and what I hope to achieve from blogging. I can’t explain it too well, but it just feels weird to tell people I’ve known years there’s a whole side of me that they never knew existed.
One of these oblivious friends inspired this poem. I know she wouldn’t have anything to say about my hobby, but complete support, yet within all our drunken conversations, I’ve never brought it up. I’ve never asked if she knew what I did when I wasn’t working on drinking with her. And she’s never had a reason to admit she’d always known. The second line captures what I fear most about breaking from the writers closet. Stupid, eh?
I told her, I was a poet
Said she was an alcoholic
and took me to a bar.
I said I don’t want to die young
She said relax,
We’re all just having fun
And we all need something to cope
Because we’re all writers,
With names, no one else will know.
If there’s enough of you who feel the same, maybe we should start a support group or does one already exist? We’ll call it the writer’s closet. Our goal would be to help each other confront our demons, so one day we’d become writers with a name everyone might know.
Thanks for reading. Don’t forget to subscribe to my writers’ closet in its current form. Spread our message by sharing this poem on social media, and maybe we could get this group going. Let’s all keep writing. Love.