I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.
– Sylvia Plath
I am a flicker of phrase in a curious jar. Firefly waiting. I am quiet lightning, and rumbled thunder under sky-forked tongues. I am borrowed light of moon. I am simmered sunshine, the bellow of this breeze on paper skins. I begin with silence and know the violence of ink in veins. I am (slightly) (sleight of hand) sane, when quilled in sky and salt. I am concrete served neat, no rocks. I am small smooth stones pebbled into ample pockets. Scattered. I am matter: skin and blood and bone and curve (of smile). I am sometimes squandered things, remembered too late. I am spill, and will, and the leftover swill of last night’s w(h)ine. I am beating, brutal, beautiful bumble (bee) heart, all inked up buzz and feeling fine.
Day 6 for Grace’s 28 days of self love.