There’s a peace here, on this blank page. This blank blog page. Especially when I don’t have anything I need to say. Especially when I’m just writing to say hi.
Hi.
How have you been?
What beautiful things have you seen lately?
I miss you.
I miss this whole blog, really. I’ve been wishing for a way where I’d have time to come back to it daily again. I’ve been wishing to be here, and I think the universe heard me because my hip is busted again and I can’t really be anywhere else.
Walking is hard, but then, sitting is hard too– but sitting is safer. And, once again, this blog is the safest place for me and I love it for that.
I’m participating in National Poetry Month, writing a poem for each day, but I’m allowing myself the practice of keeping them to myself if I want. Yesterday, I wrote to a prompt “Write a poem about your body”.
I wrote a poem about my digital body. How I know a blog can’t be carpeted but if I close my eyes, I can be sitting here no matter where I am, and the carpeting leaves an imprint on my knees.
Is that odd? I really don’t know. Many of you on the other side of this screen are writers. Is your blog a place you go?
Do you breathe better in front of a blank page?
Do you know, when my hip hurts, I wake up thinking I’m in prison again? That’s weird enough in and of itself, the brain is a funny place, but what’s stranger still to me is that — I wake up terrified.
In the year and a half I spent in prison, I don’t remember ever once waking up terrified. But now, I know I think I am in prison again, because the fear is pinching my toes, crawling up my spine like an army of ants, tangling in my hair like cobwebs. It’s familiar, and the name of it is fear, and I only just now recognize it.
Sometimes I get comments here that make me wonder if I should be over it, and I think that may be part of the reason I don’t get back here as much as I should. That’s a bad reason, and I have named it now, and I will do better.
Or, I will do the same, but it will be for different more valid reasons.
Or less valid reasons that I haven’t called out, yet.
How is your call lately?
Is it reaching people? Does it bring you what you need?
Today, I was supposed to write a poem about my body and I couldn’t because my physical body torments me. It isn’t healthy to sustain that kind of relationship, I know. I need to mend the bond to mend the body, I know. I know but I can’t.
I hurt, and I hate complaining about it because maybe this is part of the process. I used to have so much faith in everything, but then Dave…
Well.
The important thing is, I am trying. I am healing.
Right now, I am actually trying very, very hard.
And I’m so embarrassed that I’m not all better. It makes me cry and that makes me more embarrassed and also… I always misspell embarrassed.
What words do you misspell?
Today I posted on my social media about some necklaces I made. They’re the dinosaur heart, made of stainless steel.
In my direct messages, I started receiving notes about what it is to be dinosaur-hearted. All the many many different ways we have all risen to the occasions that are sometimes shaped like monsters and mountains and impossible doorways.
But we get by, don’t we?
We are the way through.
We bloom.
We’re these odd little butterflies that cocoon without a safety net. We liquefy to our basic building blocks, and stand up and build again, and then even though we look so very different– we find each other somehow.
And I’ve been crying since because I cry a lot now, but these are happy tears. I needed a place to sit and cry, so here I am.
Cross-legged on the carpeting of Rarasaur blog. I’ve always imagined it to be teal, which would be atrocious, but that’s where my brain takes me.
What color do you see? When you close your eyes?
How have you been?
Hi.
