i am not a writer.i do not know how to write.i am not a writer. by thefireflyliberation
i do now understand the concepts and the themes; words are just shapes pressed together in an attempt to say what my tongue cannot and the phrases are already so clogged in my throat that i am a champagne bottle with all the fizz and none of the pleasure. ink stains and pencil smears and typewriters break so that i am left with nothing but ripped shards of paper falling around my elbows and piling around my feet in an attempt to sculpt meaning out of the absence of what i was meant to fill.
you see, writers know the way to phrase and they know the brush they have in their hand. it is careful and planned and the art is in the crafting and the hours of sweat that is put into every syllable. it is a labor of love and loving labor and when the final punctuation is added, there is not a comma or curvature of letter that has not been pampered and ushered into final resting place.
i, however, do not know how to write.
no, instead i know how to spit up memories and