HM THEMES

It feels like stretching before a run. 

I picked up a pen this morning, between a bite of toast and a sip of coffee, and I marveled at how powerful the plastic Bic writing tool looked in my clenched fist. I want to relearn how to wield a pen like it is a sword. I feel like going into battle against adverbs and nouns and adjectives. Maybe I am too romantic today. Maybe it smells too much like summer, with the thick haze of her heat wrapping around the thoughts in my head, spinning around inside of me like fireworks. I used to flinch away from this revolving light; would turn myself completely inside out to escape the orchestra of glittering, neon-bright thought. Some things are just simply pretty, but pretty can be enough to slay you if you’re not used to it. I wasn’t used to pretty. There is always a catch to pretty because ugly slinks in right behind it, just out of sight. But it’s loving the ugly. It’s picking up the pen to ugly, to becoming acquainted with what lives beneath pretty. I have missed each corner of myself; the ones I folded up and pushed against. The pretty. The ugly. Very little dust has settled. I can run my fingertips here and not come away with grey skin. 

So I stretch, I run. I write.

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    I love this.
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    This girl.
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