At the end of the day, I just want to spend time with you
Doesn’t matter what we do
reading dozens of knock knock jokes
You’re the smile on my face
A reason to keep going
And every step I take has you in mind
I want to write
I want to stretch my fingers
And let em go
Typing typing typing away
Lost in adventures
Lost in the scenes
Pushing pushing through the pain
Eyes closed eyes squinted
Pushing and typing
Hoping that finally a stiff book baby
Will exist in my hands
I start and I start
And I just know I’ll finish
So I start some more
But the secret is to finish
At least that’s what I heard
We’ll see some day
I mouth the words hoping they’ll be caught
But without a sound I could be saying anything
He doesn’t mouth a thing
He stands there staring waiting for more from me
But I have such a hard time getting my own words out
“What are you thinking?” I mouth silently
He stands there waiting for his turn to speak
but I continue to mouth my own questions that I so badly want answered
The words won’t slip out.
My legs twitch
and my mind black as the deep blue.
I’ll fish and meditate
and search for a hook
but when nothing comes
all I have left is a defensive rotation between
force and small rests
From now on I will believe in my writing. I will be confident enough to be teachable while also being true to me. It took a lot of work to be able to write that and mean it at the same time. It’s not just an affirmation it’s a statement of who I’ve become. I will continue to reflect on this so I can maintain my belief. But I hope to stay here if not forever for as long as possible.
My motivation to write is my family. I write for our future for healing from our past. I write for our dreams and aspirations. I want the best for us. I want for us to grow together and to always share a table. Every word I hope, adds to our growth in spirit and in wisdom.
I love my life and accept that most days I’m not going to check everything off the list and that is ok.
15 more minutes to think
I’ve lost my thought and I need to find it
Just 5 more minutes with my brain
Let me look in the places I’ve forgotten about
If I just think of something else it may come floating back
There are many times I give away my time to write. I give it and give it and give till I’m writing 10 words and starving for solitude. I know I should hang on tighter to my time to write. I should be more demanding but it’s such a slippery thing. It shifts and molds in countless ways. I grip, then I give my last five minutes and I’m left grasping at nothing. I slip away because writing isn’t something that can come or go. I, the writer am coming and going. Writing does not cry without me, I cry without it. I ache and spiral and shift when I’ve strayed too far, but it is always as I left it, blank, unfinished, or completed. But when I return I won’t be exactly the same as I was when I left.
-Saschia On Writing