I bought a carton of eggs this morning.
Just a dozen.
Along with about $100 of other groceries I needed.
I didn't need the eggs though.
That is to say, that I didn't need to buy them.

(See, my sister has four fully grown chickens
who lay enough eggs to cover her family's needs and then some.
More eggs than she knows what to do with, honestly, and I could've easily gone to her place to get the dozen instead of buying it at the store.)

But I didn't, as a matter of convenience. It was simpler to buy them while I was at the store; to make one trip instead of two.

But then, when I was unloading the cart of groceries into the trunk of my car, that carton of eggs I bought, which (unbeknownst to me) had been placed on top of a 12 pack of toilet paper which toppled over after becoming unbalanced without the support of the other grocery bags that I had already unloaded, came crashing down.

They hit the parking-lot cement with a smack.
"Oh no, not the eggs!"
That's what I'd said.
I seriously said that out loud.

I picked up the bag with the fallen eggs in it. I opened the carton to see if they were alright, though I already knew at least a few had broken.

5, maybe 6. Maybe more. I don't know how many broke exactly, just looking at it made me sick. I walked the dripping bag back up to the entrance (after playing with the idea of going back in and being like: "Hey, my eggs broke in the parking lot because your inept bagger's idea of how to stack groceries was clearly inspired by the game Jenga. I demand a new carton of eggs!") but instead I just tossed them. The whole carton.

I'll just go to my sister's house before breakfast tomorrow.

Writing creates a paradigm.

Much like a camera, it is a paradigm that we can look through in order to see the world, or create one, from a different perspective.

I decided to step away from my art and look at the lens itself instead of looking through it.

What I found is that we are able to paint pictures with words, pictures that don’t exist and we can create artworks with those pictures that allow you to see them in the most magical way possible while knowing that each artwork is different and unique depending on the person that composes it.

It is being able to travel the world as we know it through symbols and letters while not moving an inch from where we are in time and lead ourselves to a beautiful yet twisted sense of duality.

Maybe it’s the feeling of godhood in creating life, worlds or even stories yet I am still human but I become a god outside of time.

I take my imagination and make it tangible.

They say actions speak louder than words but I am a writer and words are all I have. So, maybe one day, as these words drip from my fingertips they will find you and they will drown your thoughts with beautiful pictures and hopefully, you might just understand,

Why we write.

They say actions speak louder than words,

But there’s still a reason why the pen is mightier than the sword.

I wrote a f-cking poem for you.

You tell me how they broke your heart and how you wished for someone who would love all your broken parts.

You'd say "She treated me like dirt" followed by a shrug. Then you turn your back to me when I lean in for a hug?

I think you're in denial, my attempts are plain to see.

So now you won't remember all those hours in your room, where I let you break all over me?

You ungrateful little sh-t.

What about that time I covered you with blankets and let you make me sick?

Blah blah blah...

I imagine your eyes right now, rolling back. "Whatever Mel, boo hoo."

But I wrote a f-cking poem for you.

I love the way you are... so confidently you.

The way you know my deep blue soul and pretend I don't know you at all.

The way you refuse to see me and yet, time and time again, open the door.

It's the way you light my cigarettes that I adore.

The way you admit I am completely out of my mind and hold me sweetly as if to say you accept it unconditionally.

The way you love sad songs and share them with me.

The way you playfully point your guns at me when I spit fire.

It's the way you sing proudly out of tune that I admire.

The way you make Dad-jokes and chuckle at mine too.

I love the way you are...so confidently you.