When I write in even strokes
feathery
languid
all lower cases and
flourishes
I am at peace
practicing the art of
imitation
grasping words that
glimmer in the air
as soon as I speak them
slow paced
fingers curved
artfully around
cheap plastic pen.
When I write in
angry hard slashes
of deep black bleeding
ink
foul fumes clogging
my air my space
and the words won't stop coming and I don't pause to measure its weight
venom espoused
in large capital letters and
sentences that take up
half a page
I'm lost lost lost
in indignation and anger
fingers smashed around generic Sharpie.
The rest of the
in-betweens never
make it to paper
images sounds words
ideas
half formed in my mind
pushed away or a later
in favor of a more pressing
now
sometimes not even
just dissipating before
I realize the scraps
as
something I'd like to
keep
most of the time
I don't even
remember forgetting
(this is how I save on pens and paper).