Journal: “Tend the Flame”


The most purpose I’ve ever felt was with a pen in my hand- with words like whispers, dancing across my knuckles. A cadence of vernacular; poetry snared between the vulnerable heartbeats I’ve been experiencing lately. And I have no idea if I’m meant to give this world anything of value but I do know I wish to.

There’s a hunger to bottle up the diesel fumes and gumbo-caked dozer tracks of home. There’s a desire to frame the fan of past lovers’ eyelashes and soap soaked skin. There’s a longing to capture harvest moons and river rock and dragonfly wings. There’s an ache…within me, to leave a mark somewhere, among the daily pockets of my life, in heart-bled-ink.

I don’t know if I possess any magic but I do know I’ll tend this flame as if these walls were night-infested forest and the frost of monotony were moaning between the branches. I refuse to settle for ashes.


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