We're in the middle of a heatwave! Funnily enough people seem to expect me to handle it well because of my South African roots, but after five years of living on this island, I've lost all ability to tolerate heat. In fact, the weather has brought home to me (as if I needed reminding) just how different life is once you're a mom.
I write because I am alive
I write to calm the inner fiery girl who wants it all,
now. I write because it’s the first thing I loved:
holding a pen, letting it drift over the page,
waking up these people who never existed
I write because I cannot draw.
I write to clear out the old
To make way for the new
I write because I don’t want to be a boring mom
and talk about hovering.
I write because my home is on the page
I write because the words were born in me,
no visceral experience can
replace the feeling of a word
cutting right through to my core
I write because I’m 29 and I don’t have time to play around anymore.
I write to sift through my pain and bring it into the light
and see that it gleams like crystal.
I write because I could never catch a ball
or ride a bike or kiss a boy or be wanted
when I was thirteen.
I write because I can reach your mind and know my own.
I write because it saves my life.
I write because I am alive.
And I write because acid trips are
not enough, sex is not enough,
a warm day on a blanket on the grass is
not enough. I am enough
in the moment I write.