Today I am starting a new Black and White Composition Book and will be reconnecting to my writer-self. Some of this will be memoir, some poetry, or perhaps just random phrases and words that are pretty. I will also be doing a series of Tweets on Twitter from “the B/W Comp. Bk.”
Each season I’d gather what I could only to be blown again and again each storm my injury greater, hopes faded like a pressed flower.
I needed to stop cringing at who I’d become. Look at me, accept me without this how could I present myself as a creator of beauty. How could I talk about injury and healing if I hated my own image.
In search of new vibrancy, I often ignored healing and would jump head-first into ecstasy. Always came the surprise at the new injury and how I felt empty and tattered.