about writing
i find i can’t write when im not inspired
without a lyric or a star or a smile from afar , the words refuse to reach me, they tumble and they tussle and they tiptoe onto my tongue but never breach the dam and flood the ground.
they evade me, erode my strength and render me weak,
and i wonder, what writer lets their words be deadened?
what becomes of the writer unable to convey her meaning? failing to translate what was once intuitive and overflowing from the soul,
what becomes of he who sits in the dark, at the foot of the page, legs dangling over its numbers, because the lines are a mountain he is unequipped to climb,
what happens to the writer’s words when the music dies, put down and lain to rest within the ashes of their unaltered manuscripts,
who picks them up in their deficiency and places their half empty urns within the crooked shelves of the library, with a kiss atop the lid and gentle prayer for solace,
who remembers their words? their pleas? the things they used to do to please their minds and the likened,
maybe relief can only be found within the rubble of rubbish unwritten things that dare not materialize ,
maybe true beauty is within the treasures left forgotten,
the first time someone called you beautiful when you truly felt it,
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a bronzed leaf on the sidewalk,
the blue beaded bracelet you once shared with me,
the last time you felt true warmth within a platonic embrace,
the time before when in the face of all your ugliness you were caressed and carried into a cradled consciousness,
maybe the argument isn’t about what to write about and who for, where the moment comes from, whether inspiration is a constant current or an unreliable friend,
you’re a writer in birth and in death, every memory is a leaf out of the page of the chapters you create, every band of letters that steal away conversations, every haphazard title, hum and rhyme, alllllll the time, make you a writer,
i hope wherever you are, you can shed the insecurity, the feeling of fraudulence and uncertainty because you are just that,
you remain so, it is engraved in the books of fate (should you believe) from the day you utter your first word till your very very last breath.
do not remain shrouded by the dimness,
do not give in to the shadows,
embrace the moonlight,
and as she washes light over you,
dance in stride to the waltz sung by the river and let your words flow.
