I commenced a record of public writ in 2018.
My first writing was called Watching Closely… and watch I do.
I have watched all my life, for all the good it did me.
I have also have written all my life.
Badly for most of it. It was – write or implode.
I chose to write.
There are things I cannot tell.
I cannot for reasons that I also cannot tell.
There are some things I choose not to tell.
I am giving myself the gift of choice.
It was taken away you see.
I give that gift back to me.
When I write I close my eyes and search gently through history.
I need not go far, nor deep.
The song of sorrow sits just beneath the surface of my skin, waiting to sing.
I listen long.
I write what she tells me.
I would like you to listen too.
Perhaps you know the tune.
I write also to build a framework of understanding both for you and for me.
I write to make sense of the non-sensical.
I write because I cannot sing of sorrow – on account of my throat closes over.
I write so that if you wish to, you could know, and in knowing you could see.
I must reframe trauma and re-roof my humanity.
The roof keeps out the rain – and rain it does.
I like a tin roof in the rain.
It makes melancholy music.
It is the song of sorrow on repeat.
Thank-you for reading what I write.
For listening with me and to me.