Perhaps I was born with this talent! Because before November of 2016 I’ve written poems out of ease. But since November, I’ve written out of necessity. Maybe it isn’t a gift. Maybe writing isn’t as simple as a touch. I’ve had my moments, hid my writings in old journals afraid that the world would judge me moments. But I also had other moments. Write poems for girls I liked and place them in their hands with no intentions but sharing. That’s when I was young and shy beyond reproach. And I’ve grown into myself as a person, as a writer. Now I write out of necessity. Out of habit and ritual. Once a day in my journal. At least one a day on this platform. And the talent has become like breathing. It’s become second-nature. Since mid-November I’ve written 90 new original pieces. These shards of my soul, I’m not afraid to share them with the world. Not afraid to give of myself. Because I feel at home when I write. I feel at ease. This is my world. This is my life. Writing, saved my wretched soul. Writing, gave me peace.