Untitled Document

Perhaps I shouldn’t have to have anything cohesive to say when I want to write. After all, my urge to write comes from the same primal pit as laughter and tears. They arrive at will, without warning, rhyme, formality, or reason.

So why not write about the sun and the way it makes me feel, and how I plan to wash my hair today for the first time in about a month? Why not write about how my soul is in a growth spurt, and the things I once draped around it no longer fit…and how that’s not a bad thing? 

Why not mention that thirty was the perfect age for me to gift myself with my journals from the last fifteen years? And how I look forward to cupping the chins of my former selves, and telling them it gets both better and worse

What if I wrote about my conquest for purity? Not the canned, Colonizer, chaste-paste kind. 

But the kind that is free from interference, raw, uncut. The kind that pushes me to stand tall, being exactly who I am, demanding exactly what I deserve.

I could talk about how, even with the household number down by five, I still don’t really get time alone. And how I’m coping, using boundaries and a black therapist. 

I could tell you that seeing only darkness ahead shouldn’t stop you from charging toward the light, and how you’re always always one determined step away from a miracle.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have to have anything cohesive to say when I want to write. Perhaps I can simply wring myself out here, and make room to soak up more of this feeling. 

Wishing you all so much light.