april 11th april 14th

april 11 , 2020

we look back at who we were last year and who we are now. but isn’t summer just a feeling? and perhaps now is the realest it has ever been. because it is felt in the air which fills the room. when summer comes it is let in through the windows. it is in the movement of what often lies still. it is the opening and the becoming of a life that we willed. i wait. i let wide space in wide windows. it’s all a relationship you and me. it’s not me against the paper. it’s how the paper holds me and lives through my pen. i breathe into white spaces, it’s something i have taught myself how to do. But now when I enter a room of all white my blackness stains its white and I am not what bends. I am what moves. I’m telling you these stories because there were days I lost what was brave. the contrast of me vs everything. I felt too much. enough to let myself down. i fall in love with the text more and more now and I burst myself open at each instance and yet i open even more. this could be what not to do, but why do some words fly out of me and others do not. must we sit through the dissonance or do i sit and wait. am i a girl who must wait, to see the woman i become - the woman who lives. are all feelings good feelings. must i sit through the lethargy of an uninspired thought to feel the hot brink of a revelatory spark. i am, i guess, a vessel. open to what is green and from there i will pour. i am so open i flow into the cascades of a wide universe. silly navigation. arriving to yourself. self-editing. instincts are anxiety without the need for control. i am an artist at becoming an inspired reflection of myself. i assemble what hurt i was given and i bake new bread. 

april 14 , 2020

if there was a way to bring my shadows into light, i would do that for them. i’ve left her in the dark, when maybe all she wants is to be seen. to be loved, for she is all things I want too. Maybe she wants everything I do because she is a part of me too.