I Write to Heal Myself.

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By Jes Wright

I write because it’s the only way to save myself.

I write knowing that the way is filled with uncertainty.

I write, and yet I am too shy to share my words, so I don’t write, and then I’m worse off, so I write even more.

I write without looking down because I don’t want to scare myself into being quiet.

I write as a way to see beyond what it is that I think that I know.

I write sloppily.

I write in black ink, smearing words because I don’t let them dry.

I write as a way to see how I wear a mask of words pretending to be all right when I’m not.

I write leaving ink stains where I paused in mid-sentence.

I write in a little black notebook while sitting in a café where almost everyone else stares at their screens.

I write in that notebook unaware that I’m becoming hip without trying.

I write because I always have written even before it was popular to pour emotions across pages, and snap pictures of them.

I write to get lost.

I write without maps delineating the ways.

I write without pay because I’ll never be so abrasive or glamorous to want millions of followers. I simply don’t give a crap, but I do (because I’d like to stock my fridge with veggies bought from my own work—like that guy in Breakfast from Tiffany’s although he probably picked up a bottle of gin instead of broccoli).

I write to see the unspoken.

I write knowing that some words—soft translations of my thoughts—will never be shared online, or in my poetry books.

I write sitting cross-legged by a creek, occasionally putting down my pen, so I pick up pebbles to toss across the waters.

I write while I meditate, but then I’m not really meditating, so I stop writing in my head, and I meditate, but then I start writing again.

I write in the shower as the tea tree shampoo gets in my eyes.

I write—in the way that you do—to hear myself thinking out loud: some of it is clear, and other times it’s like waves crashing against the shoreline.

I write knowing that I will never be able to say everything that I want to say because I can’t out of respect for others.

I write saying “sorry” for the things that I wrote while being impulsive and playful.

I write wondering if any of these words even matter, and they do.

I matter, and so I must write.

 

Photo: (source/Deviantart)

Editor: Dana Gornall

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Jessie "Jade" Wright

Jes Wright loves being barefoot and finding nature in the most urban of urban spaces. She loves the feel of paints just as much as pens, and finally admits that she is an Artist (after trying to hide it for too many years). Her writing may be found at Be You Media Group,Elephant Journal, Facebook and Twitter. P.S. Jes finally gathered all her poetry fluttering in the wind into her latest poetry book. It's available here.

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By | 2016-10-14T07:51:33+00:00 May 9th, 2015|Arts, blog, Featured, Relationships, Wellness|1 Comment

One Comment


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    Tom Welch May 9, 2015 at 2:59 pm - Reply

    Keep writing stay alive through your words.

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