happy national writing day.

i always miss the national/world “_________” days so i feel like i should show up properly for this particular one.

hey.

sometimes i feel like most of my writings, even the prose, have poetry at the bottom of it. towards the end of my undergrad, i noticed that my favourite writers had this trait too. baldwin. angelou. didion. walcott. i love that i can’t write a play without it being poetic or entertain an autobiography or an essay without feeling it’s poetry. and as i grow in my writing, it’s cute observations like these, on night like these when i shouldn’t have deep conditioned my hair so late on a weekday, that i feel most appreciative and committed to playing around with that. under this massive bracket of ‘writer’ we’re allowed and entitled to call ourselves out and carve our own nuances.

this national writing day i’m exploring that. in new ways.  i’ve always been inspired by what i can produce during freewrites. i’ve actually always loved the vulnerability of freewrites, it feels honest. and today (tonight) i am inspired by the challenge set by Dean Atta’s :‘ i feel most free when…’ so. i’ve shared a few freewrites from that premise and few other bits, writings + poetry + prose that have summarised my mind space as of recently.

enjoy x

extract from a monologue|

where else are we diasporic if not at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. are we not thrown here, by self or other, and told to live, still? are we still bound to our children? are we listening? (are we listened to?) but are we not constantly listening? we remember, even if the world did not ask for our names, didn’t pause. didn”t wait. still we stay here, settling. steadying the waters

freewrite 1|

me, i feel most free when i am not told that i am being watched. when i am being stared at and nobody but myself knows that i know this. i’ve known this is how we sometimes get lost and found in the presence of absent eyes. i know that sometimes., i am not a mirror for you or anything that you can find weight

lessness in. but sometimes i help you. i know that sometimes you help me. sometimes we help each other when we are not hurting,

outloud

today

in the middle of our living

 

freewrite 2 (featuring golden hour me)|

 

poetry|

Healing came

And left the wounds open

And pressed down on the pressure

And did not clot the blood

And did not call for my mother

And did not hug me close

And did not tend to the bone

And did not stay by my side

And did not look for the pulse

And did not count me down

And did not offer apology

And did not quieten my screams

And did not take it slow when I flinched

And did not care for the swelling

And did not cater for the numbness

And did not dry my tears

Healing came and did not tell me how brave I was, afterwards.

 

Healing just,

Picked me up and put me on my feet,

sanitised and sanctified them

Sweeped careless fingers over my hurting head and did not

Lower them once

To

Nurse me.

Healing just, shouted memorised hymns over the protest

And dug fingers deep into weak palms as we stood

And danced.

And healing did not stop dancing with me

Until I collapsed to my knees

 

And begged my God

To accept my thanks.

.- feb 2018. 

 

thank you for reading what i write.

if you have any writings from national writing day, share the link below! don’t forget to like and share this post and subscribe to the blog for updates and late late night poetry.

Amara Amaryah.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.