third culture kid

My voice is pencil, child of trees. Something that molts, and still remains. My voice is pencil, child of carbons. Something worth mining.

My voice is pencil.

It leaves traces in the softness that yields to it, accents of where it has been. It smudges toward the end of every sentence.

Child of chop, child of drill– stretched in all directions– trying to reach the depth and height of what came before.

Shaky, graphite-textured, gentle, inconsistent.

Determined, but easily faded. Smooth, but easily mumbled.

Soft, and heavy. Heavy, and quick.

Quick, before forest becomes memory.
Quick, before cave becomes echo.

Quick, before history comes back.

My voice is pencil, American-made,
desperately unlearning how it was built to erase itself.

From the promptosaur: Describe your actual voice.


25 thoughts on “third culture kid

  1. I never thought of my own voice as pencil before, but somewhere in me I feel the idea as Truth. Aside from my online writing, I’ve only ever used pencil to journal, and it’s always seemed right to do so. Anyway, thanks for the interesting idea that I will certainly ponder further!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. … my voice is full of anger … sometimes it’s a shout … sometimes it’s a hiss … mostly it’s just gnashing of teeth, clenching of fists … trembling Adam’s apple … it might come as a rant, unintentionally cruel witty comment or that inner hater pushing me to run that extra mile … it’s an everblazing fire, the walls and the bars of my own prison, dead honesty, dry like red wine. I don’t like it but it’s the only voice I have …

        Liked by 2 people

  2. As writers, I guess we constantly shed words and yet the core still remains, filling back up again, ready to shed and share again with the world at a moment’s notice. The pencil is far more flexible and resourceful than I thought, the pencil can continue to grow and only the mistakes fade to be written over by future triumph.

    Liked by 1 person


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