the nude poet.

Naked. That's what poetry makes me feel. Completely and utterly naked.

I put my words to the screen and suddenly I feel the breeze of self-conciousness sending a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps along my naked arms, legs and mind.

I frequently part with the innermost thoughts of my brain, but when there is no intent. When the words must hold up as their own little island without reason. When they are not part of a journey, but rather a goal in themselves.

Naked. Naked as we came.