No Other Choice

I like to think that I am a turtle, but I know that is only a pipe dream.

I am a rabbit.  I have dreamed I was a rabbit and it fit me like a winter coat designed exclusively for me.

I am a rabbit who writes.  I have big ears and I can be a good listener, but mostly I am just a writer, a dreamer who puts into words what some people only think.

Sometimes it is my only claim to being, writing those words others think.  Writing is my only real skill.  All the others are just past times, things I do in between the writing.

I only act brave when there is no other choice.  I feel like there are things I must do whether I want to or not.   My nest is my world.   When I venture out of it I am skittery, always afraid I will run into dogs, willing to walk all the way around the block to avoid them and only looking carefree and brave because I am too scared to do anything else.