Love Me. Hate Me.

What motivates my pen is simply wanting to be understood and accepted for who I truly am and not by what everyone casually observes on the outside.  Although self-publishing was not my first hope (excuse the twinkle in my eyes), years later, I am at peace with realizing it was the best path to take.  I have learned to enjoy the rewards of journeying on the fringes of obscurity.  The deadlines I set are under my own intense scrutiny and the limits of what I can create are determined only by the boundaries of my vivid imagination.  I am free to roam about my colorful universe as often as I please or not at all.  I am free to flourish or fail as an author without the beam of a microscope constantly aimed at me.  I am also free to wander the thin, shaky line between living as a person and confessing my dreams as a nameless poet, between being a woman and weeping out my fears as an unknown writer.

I love the hours I spend contemplating the perfect kiss.  I hate that I am absent of the power to push every emotion flawlessly across the page.

I love sharing the pure desire swimming in my heart.  I hate knowing that blank eyes are scouring the lines of my precious words simply for the joy of pointing out typos.

I love pouring out a love story not defined by race or color.  I hate that because this is all the world sees, most of these tales will become lost to the wind.

I love being lenise lee.  I hate that I am the only one who sees her true potential.

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