Why I write.

I write to mend
those places that got
snagged, ripped or frayed
while being human,
with other humans.

I write to remember
to play with my words, i.e.
"traffic jam" is a city spread
made of cars.  Not fruit.
It's misleading.  Like "text,"
which was once more of a dull noun,
but now is more of a cannibalistic verb
that eats itself, because the fewer
characters, the better.  Apparently.

I write, of course, to know
what the heck I am feeling,
because it's not always clear
and obvious.  And when it is,
it changes.  Moody much?  Yes.

I write to send a signal
to other kooky bats
who hang upside down
in caves, and contemplate
their extinction.  I write to say:

"We are not a dying breed.
We are pollinators!  And we are
free from the burdens
of beauty + bright lights."

I write for those who are not
hummingbirds and butterflies
(gorgeous gluttons of glory.)

I write to praise the least among us,
because, well... because I am that, too.
Strange little batgirl, with peculiar powers,
and a pen.

Comments

colleen m szabo link
8/1/2014 11:48:52 pm

nice.

Jannie
8/2/2014 09:56:33 am

u write and I always enjoy. :)

Erika Harris link
8/11/2014 04:38:17 am

That's so sweet, Jannie! Thank you. :-)

Comments are closed.