How the Words Fall
Article voiceover
I have never thought of myself as a poet.
This is just how the words spill out.
There were years and years of trying to make the words line up in rows so that they could be understood in a way that I thought I needed to be understood because how else could I be understood if I didn’t force myself into shapes and forms not of my nature.
But once.
I pulled at threads.
That bound my breath and being.
But once I came undone.
And let myself find density and air and life in the curves that rise from the ground.
But once I stopped.
I began.
And now.
Now.
Now.
The words just fall and find themselves.
However they happen to be.
Poetry.
Or not.
My heart is pounding this is the most profound reading that connected to the deep part of me, ever I have 30 or 40 journals with half written paragraphs I’ve been told by divination my entire life I should be writing, and because I could never start with once upon a time and end with the end I just could never figure it out. And thought that nobody would ever want to hear the weird magical stuff I have to say and have experienced. I feel like so excited. Just to hear those words Namaste