Write Yourself Into The Fabric Of Everything. {poetry}
{source}
Write.
Write your truth,
however it may come.
Prick your fingertip and let drops of yourself
scarlet across the blank white page,
waiting in abandoned thirst
for you to arrive upon it.
Write like you peel a tangerine,
one asymmetric piece at a time.
Write like you make love.
Slow, soft, with patient lips meeting lips,
or, rip the clothes off all the syntax
and f***k the shit out of all the vowels,
because they seem supple and rounder.
Either way,
open yourself.
Spread yourself,
like butter across freshly warmed toast.
Not like jelly, remaining partially stuck
to the silver knife.
Let yourself go
and forget where you begin
and the words end.
Forget where creamy meets toasted
and just let it all be crumbs.
You’ll follow them back one day,
along the forested trail,
overgrown with a thousand shades of green.
You’ll find them like jewels and collect yourself
in the deep pockets of eternal time.
Write.
Write the mundane shit.
The non-esoteric, unevolved feelings
of wanting to run from your own skin.
Dream yourself into a new language,
in an old village
where life has been decided
long before you began.
There’s only so long
you can turn your mug upside down
and watch as the last drop of tea
moves like Pac-Man against the ceramic,
one direction at a time until it dries.
It will dry.
We must write our juice.
We must write while we can
still tilt ourselves and traverse lines,
across the bottom edge of what makes us, us.
We must write ourselves into the fabric
of everything we have yet become.
Because unlike your skin, hair, and bones,
your words you take with you when you go.
Life, like land, is formed when fire meets air and water,
when thought meets emotion and language,
the edge of a moment.
Write like breath because it is.
Write like home because you are.
And build yourself, one fallen branch at a time,
around yourself.
Build yourself with words
that will outlive you,
that will permeate the ground water,
will penetrate the molten center,
will saturate the mystery we must live into,
one. single. word. at. a. time.
*****
Scarlet Garn is a mom, a lover of health and truth, and bender of all things — rules, status quo, and our own beliefs. She writes to know, and ultimately fall in love with life more fully. She shares in hopes it will serve as a synapse between others and their own true selves. After all, we are all in this together.
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