I first sought the companionship of words
to dream love into shapes I could touch.
The world had become distorted and distant; writing resurrected a need to feel, to chip away at callouses, embrace my soft again. Poetry felt forbidden, decadent, enticing- a trove of pleasurable pain. Words wrapped around rhythmic lines framing stories where my wanderlust could journey: beyond the broken fence of normalcy, past the lamppost, to utter obscurity.
Now, I sleep beneath the exposure of stars, writing the dark, unsettled histories within, territories where only my fingers can navigate their distance. Out in this unknown, I forget my name. I am the faceless gravedigger of my soul, scavenger of lost relics, beachcomber in love with the sea's unbridled fury.
Writing ourselves whole is as a courageous act of discover.y. BLT's writing about his mother inspired this piece's theme, the power of writing to excavate feelings and heal ourselves.