What if I swept the pen across the paper like a lover, letting the ink become an act of passion, not necessity?
I think I would write about tip-toe’ing through the daisies and how I felt like I was a part of a fairy tale. I would lift my hands towards the sky so I could twirl, whirl and laugh. If I did choose to write for me, and me alone, I would stop spinning. Maybe I would sit down, pull my knees to my chest and let sadness overcome me. My childhood tales would become heavy, come crashing down and I would see them all fall….to the ground…..destruction. I wouldn’t because that would hurt too much. Instead maybe, I would just write I just wanted to lay down in a bed of irises so I could close my eyes and dream.
What if I didn’t pick metaphors that would pull the heartstrings of readers or make sense to sensible minds? I would talk about when I ran away so I could endure another day. My body stayed, but my mind and heart wandered. They traveled everywhere taking on another form, hidden behind a mask. You could hear my voice when I would speak, feel my love from my heart beat, see my dreams from what my hands created, and know my ideas and knowledge from my mind. However, you would not see my face. Only I would understand if I wrote this just for me.
Then I would become brave and trust myself. I would pull off the mask, stand up and dance once more. I would only stop when I got dizzy from happiness and laughter. Once I stopped I would write a poem upon a blade a grass with the sweet liquid of a honeysuckle. When it was done, I would close my eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of childhood, happiness and then see your face. I could hear your voice once more and laughter. A smile would light up my face briefly before sadness stepped in. Standing on my shoulder reminding me of what I lost. Pulling the blade of grass that I wrote my love upon and let it drop into a puddle. Watch it disappear in front of my eyes.
If I were to write for me I would release my heart on the paper, fold it up and slip it into an envelope.
After I seal the envelope, I would kiss it. Hoping when you received it, you would kiss the same spot. Feel me.
If I were to do all that would I still hurt?
If I were to write for me…