I started writing publicly 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. Why?
To write around the things I cannot speak.
To frame the house of my humanity.
To put the roof back on my soul.
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.