The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Writing WrongsBy Lisa Zaran QuailBellMagazine.com Writing Poetry is Hard Somebody has to give insight to the car accident that left two dead, another in critical condition. Life must be materialized into form, a shape that others can formulate, breathe into, emotionalize. Placing life onto paper infinitesimally changes a person psychologically. It’s biological. It’s an angel on your shoulder. There are knots that must be undone. Cramped muscles that must be massaged. I Wasn’t Happy when my teacher whispered in my ear: you might want to wear a bra. when silence became a hindrance to my growth, and as a feeler I was forced to speak. To be a Program Facilitator in County Jail Brick, painted an awful sour-egg white. I have my clearance badge, my curriculum. The officer takes her time. Eventually, I am granted entrance. What impresses me most is the odor. Grainy, overly close. Wearing a bright yellow shirt, thinking: too much assuredness is uncouth. Too much brightness is blindness. My hair is tied loosely root to end, a caveat of insecurity, tendrils fighting for freedom, a loosening within me. The women are skinny. And fat. Happy. And sad. I walk in wearing the fucking sunlight. They accept me as if I were their mother, sister, best friend. I like your shirt. It’s the little things. #Unreal #YellowShirt #CountyJail #Colors #Freedom #WritingIsHard Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
CommentsComments are closed.
|