Eversince I was a little girl, I’ve dreamt of a day when words I wrote would adorn someone’s bookshelf, when I would a hold a book I’ve myself authored.
Now that I’m not little anymore, my dreams seem far fetched and whispy as the clouds. The sheer amount of people who write and are read and loved for what they write makes me feel tiny and imperceptible.
I always ask myself, if I’m ready to try for a publication. But then, I never am. I know I never will be. And I also realise that if I keep waiting for it, this one life I call mine will go in vain. I don’t want to die regretting that I didn’t try.
For all of you who have read my work and seen me change through words, I have been an obscure blogger who won’t even write under her own name. But even then, I believe you are the best judge to all that I’ve put for you to read. So, of you I only ask if I should…simply put, venture forth and compile my poems in a book? Do you think it is worth trying for at this point? Would you, as a reader like the idea of a book if poetry that I’ve written?
I look forward to all your views and opinions. I hope I can find a clearer picture in the light of your critique.