When I was a teenager it was like poetry shot out my fingertips. I was inspired by the turn-style in the subway. I got sonnets off my locker combination. I could summon my creativity in the same way the guys at pubs in Wrigleyville could spit out failing pickup lines after only three beers. I was on figurative fire most of the time. My silence meant I was writing in my head- and I was always doing it even in my sleep.

In a time when responding to life was as easy as breathing and I only had to engage in the ways I wanted to. Now I engage in all ways, simply because I understand that it’s not only part of who I am becoming, but it’s part of who I need to be. The poetry doesn’t always come out in words, sometimes it’s in the dance of a crazy day at work or figuring out new ways to level up dinner tine. Sometimes art is biting my tongue when I feel like a firecracker, and letting it out when I’m more like a dirty floor. 

Sometimes the theatre is in reducing my headspace to the white noise of my city, with an encore of the fan circling above my head.

The past month and a half has been full of adjustments. From moving, to adjusting finances and new tasks at work, I’ve been growing in ways I never thought possible, and stretching parts of my being that I was certain did not exist. That’s no excuse to not write. In fact, that should be even more of a reason too. Those drinks I’ve been looking forward to on my walk back home from work should have been new word docs that I would switch between. I should have spent less mental energy focusing on how tired I was. 

But I didn’t, and tonight I start playing catch-up.

In a weird way though, between my job and my prose I can’t help but think this is the closest I will be to the feeling of being a mother with two young babies.  The spit up is spaghetti sauce from eating lunch at my desk.  Instead of feeding two other people I am feeding to nagging parts of myself that won’t take turns at being relentless. In order to grow I will have to stretch. I am investing in two futures that I pray will run parallel.I will likely be just as tired as I am energized-in awe by sheer beauty of it all.

And I will love it ruthlessly.

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