I don't spend enough time, or give enough credit, to the idea of my written words. I love writing. I love being a writer. I love the idea of canvassing the dictionary to find the right words to exactly express how I am feeling. I love the fact that feelings can flow through my fingers onto the written page and heal themselves. I love that I can look back months and remember what I have already figured out or years and remember who I was that made me who I am. I love who and whom and words that resonate in all of the recesses of my mouth.
I love that I can feel something, then I can think it, then I can crystalize it in black and white. I love being a writer. It is who I am. It is what I am.
Perhaps it is words that are the love of my life. The men give fodder to my real passion. That of speaking my truth and speaking my feelings and knowing that somewhere somehow there is someone for whom these words will reverberate. I never know how my words will end. They think and birth themselves without conscience thought from me. I read them as I write them and I am as surprised as you when they appear on the screen. A locked room in my heart the key to which is a keyboard and the path to which is a blog. All I know is that when I sit down to write I am hurting and tight. When I am finished I can breathe.
I am usually unaware that I have a demon on my chest when I start writing. The words suffocate it. Every single time.
Things I know to be true:
Spencer still sucks
But my kids like him
My kids have no taste
God is love
God loves me
Jehovah listens
He is trying to teach me something
It is JUST beyond my grasp
I will know it when I see it
Life is better when you focus on love
focus on love
Love-
A
