Tag: practice

reclaiming safety

~ jennadawn ~ Leave a comment

I had a safe space.
I invited people in.
I realized
my decision was premature
too late.

My safe space dissolved
into an empty void
for months,
tainted by the destruction
I had invited in,
in naivete.

A piece of me broke away.

Remembering
if I made it once
I can make it again
and this time,
add an extra padlock on the door.

No one expects an invitation
so I disregard any felt obligation
to extend one.

Reclaiming safety
for my soul.

re-acquaint the pen with my hand

~ jennadawn ~ 1 Comment

I have forgotten how to hold my pen –
index, middle and thumb?
index and thumb?
concave or convex?
thumb tucked in or overlapped?

I write a line, or a word,
then my fingers fumble and fidget,
switch to a different position
then switch again a few words later.

What was once a natural extension of my hand
now lives in the unfamiliar.
Half the process now, requires learning
how to enable the pen to rest
within my fingers and thumb
to scratch legible letters,
never mind focusing my mind enough
to connect thoughts into coherency
to write at all.

I have been away from the page
for so long
the practice, the rituals I once knew
and depended on,
are foreign.

Long ago
(or what seems like long ago)
I began this practice
fumbling and learning and
constantly switching my fingers around the pen
just like I am now.

This is a chance to begin again
to re-acquaint the pen with my hand
and begin walking along a new trail
of the forest.

after some time away

~ jennadawn ~ Leave a comment

Wading through the murky waters
of words that don’t make sense together
but I write them together anyway
hoping they can make it work
but realizing on the second read-through
that no, it doesn’t work.

Wading through the muddy waters
realizing how muddy they can get
after spending time on dry land for a while,
I cannot expect to jump right in
to the crystal clear blue lake on the first page,
or the fifth.

Trudging through the mud and the muck,
the frustrations, shame and self-doubt
squish out from underneath my boots
to float up and around me in a haze.
At least I’m getting them up and out
to meet them in the eye.

With each step, the mud recedes,
and the clarity expands.
Just keep going,
just keep writing.