On Growth
I have forgotten where I came from.
I have abandoned my books,
Pencil sharpeners and my child's smile.
I have branded my desires,
My kind ghosts,
On my mirrors. I watch as they watch
Me. I
Take the tones of their expressions
Home to write on my bed,
Eyes zigzagging and I stop.
I always stop because I can't
Give each face a name.
That's only their doing.
-
I wrote that in one breath. I sat after I was done and criticised ever comma and capital letter. I wondered if 'come' sounded better than 'came'. I stared at 'pencil sharpeners' and the image of children came into mind and I didn't like the idea of what I wrote sounding childlike. This is on growth after all, I reminded myself and kept the word. I looked at the second stanza and thought it looked too vague to be telling anything and the stanza that came after that happened without my knowing and much too fast to judge. I gave the last verse the most of my minutes, in which I finally left it all alone as they were.
That was around a week ago. Tonight I came back to it and thought of a title. The title came with just as much speed as the writing. This is not normal, I thought to myself. I might have even said that out loud once.
There was something about this one that made me question everything I've every written. It reminded me of my passion and unmoving love for writing and reading. It reminded me that there's absolutely nothing in this world that gives me such feeling, such peace. Writing cleansed me, gave light to all the dirt I thought I didn't carry and washed it off me. It made me wish English was the topic I chose to study at university, but I wouldn't change my current course for the world despite the long nights and exhaustion it gives me. It made me wish I wrote more than I neglected my writings. It made me question whether I was talented enough to write in the style of poetry or reverse back to prose.
It's the simplest 'poem'(maybe one day I'll write that word without marking it) I've come to write yet the one that hugged me the strongest; the only I've ever felt the need to write my thoughts right beneath. I am sure of one thing: I have had many, many things I want to say over my lifetime and I will try my hardest giving voice to half of them if anything. Writing is something I've abused and used awfully during a lot of times thinking it was the right way when really, nothing beautiful can ever come out of an angry foundation, it'll only fall apart.
Writing is a blessing to finish, whether it be prose or poetry or everything in between. I have missed it more than I thought I would. For the first time, I am afraid of eyes other than mine reading what I write. Maybe that's a good sign. They say you're on the right road if you're feeling the change and expansion you were looking for and change is always frightening isn't. I've looked at my previous published writings on here this past hour and was overcome with the need to erase them all, but decided against it. It's a surreal feeling witnessing and reflecting on your own growth first-hand, another reason I appreciate writing.
Thank you. Thank you for reading my work, I appreciate that more than you'd imagine. I also very much appreciate your thoughts on them, it's always great being invited into the perspective of another. I am so very thankful for your time, truly. So very grateful.
May the right words be with us all.
