Displaced over stacks of books By neon yellow swiping feathers To gather myself To make sense of thought To understand love and anger, my own being To feel honestly, to be able to convey feeling This is to be an artist It is the feeling that comes so readily when I take a moment to listen to my own heartbeat Even when I do not, it thumps so fucking loud through my rational self I can’t help but tap my foot and question What is this flagrantly fragmented beat? When it moves warm how do I capture it? Pen it to a page and send it to you to read? When it feels unsexy, sharp, how to release it? Confident in righteous abandonment Pain of self comes in waves, disoriented it creates swirls and deludes linear idealism A need to move beyond myself Escape this heavy chest A mind that worries and scatters Like so much dust displaced over stacks of books A neon yellow bunch of Gathering self Making sense of thought Understanding love and anger Honestly feeling and conveying feeling, to be an artist. Release the unneeded, unsexy Disoriented pain of self comes in swirls No hint of linear idealism Movement beyond self Listening to this fucking thumping Warm and beautiful to tapping toe
Andrea Morgan Davies
Human rights advocate with a knack for inter-contextually, a storyteller, a ceramists, a pan-arts lover, a feminist and a human-ist too.
- Haiku* August 15, 2017
- Writing Routine In Rainbowland August 11, 2015
- Five Reasons Kat Fitzpatrick Cares about Vietnam (And Three Reasons Why You Should, Too) April 1, 2015
- Books and Cigarettes by Andrea Davies October 30, 2014
- Why Diction Matters: A Close Look at Joan Didion October 1, 2014