Tamara Willems

these words, and Bruce and … me

This morning my husband and I sit with coffee, quietly reading our books.  My day off, and he with just a bit of time before he heads off to work, so we share this little luxury, togetherness.
He’s just started reading a book I gave him for Christmas, and I ask him how it is so far.  He says, “it’s really good, he writes like you do”
Now just to qualify this, the book he is reading is Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen, and I have not yet read it, so I am not sure if this is a compliment, or if he means possibly that Bruce is blathering on about seemingly nothing.
So I say to him, “well he is an intelligent man, and I …   … (laughing) am a very intelligent woman!”
Later, in my morning, after he’s gone, this comes back to me in a large smile, and my heart swells.
Whenever I tell my husband about someone he doesn’t know liking or commenting or responding to something I have written, or when I have read something wonderful,  I always preface it by saying “Jena, or Nicole or Shawna or others I have connected with – she’s a ‘real’ writer.”
Lately he’s started tilting his head a little and correcting me – “You’re a ‘real’ writer’.
While it’s true, I do write..  and now I share..
I guess it’s the old ‘impostor syndrome’ – the inner critic, the uncertainty, expecting a ‘who cares’ and ‘would you please stop’.
I write mostly for myself, I guess.  It’s kind of my way of talking to myself –
out loud
of making sense of things
this is what I’m thinking,
of capturing a moment
of saying this is me,  yeah, you too?
Being a rather shy person, I often write in short sentences
sometimes someone will say ‘your poem’
I don’t know if I write poems
this is just how
thoughts come out
partially it comes from my shamefully shoddy use of the english language, punctuation and capital letters
mostly it comes from that feeling of saying something, and then suddenly realizing,
eyes are on you
I guess I have said this
out loud
and really who cares to listen to you anyway, and JUSTSTOPTALKINGNOW
shrinking violet

Then at some point, a friend encouraged me
to share it
and someone, (usually a friend)
read it
and maybe somebody said,
thank you
me too
and I began to leave my thoughts here, in this way on little scraps of paper
left out
on a table
or tucked into
a book
under a cup
one day
to be discovered
in a drawer
hoping maybe they’d find you
you’d smile
at the thought

but for today, I think I’ll just bask in the thoughts of me and Bruce Springsteen
sharing some words
with my husband
and our coffee


and maybe
since I have written this down,
after I have
attached my name
at the end
I’ll allow myself
the courage
to say
I am
writer ♥

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