So many moons ago, before the tides of your love changed
me, the November grey of ink which surrounded my groggy
limbs pulled me down. I was drowning, always.
Yet all it took was for me to see that the ink
had power to do something more - to stain
and change the paper beneath it instead of destroying
it. It will take away the blank inanimacy
of the white and make something storming, wild
and capable of feeling. It will make something different.
I will use this ink to make something beautiful
to be remembered by instead of letting it defeat me.