avatarLennie Varvarides

Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

1066

Abstract

o back to that exercise of writing it down, I can still see my 8-year -old hands fighting with words and licking paper-cuts</p><p id="55d1">my monsters nibbled the ends of my tips and took off the top layer, in between thoughts of being lost or abandoned or alone like when I was 9-years-old and took that overdose</p><p id="2d89">something was wrong, but not when I held my pencil and underlined titles as if I had plans</p><p id="056f">words opened me up and gave me a home and they held me together while stitching an ode and the wall then ceased to be a threat or a block or a No or a place to hit my head - it became scaffolding holding me up instead.</p><p id="f192"><i>© <a href="https://dyspla.medium.com/">Lennie Varvarides</a>, March 2021</i></p><p id="1753"><i>Thank you for reading, Words not Walls, inspired by another excellent prompt by <a href="https://readmedium.com/48102d77b16c?source=post_page-----1aee263f31fa--------------------------------">J.D. Harms</a> —</i></p><p id="6b3c">Other posts in this series include:</p><div id="2782" class="link

Options

-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/words-not-walls-4ed6407dbbb"> <div> <div> <h2>Words, Not Walls</h2> <div><h3>A series of poems about Literacy</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*gmcqgr98B-Qmjk25)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="08cd" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/words-not-walls-22af6ea8ae15"> <div> <div> <h2>Words, Not Walls</h2> <div><h3>Making Poets out of Poverty</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*t_-bOfJKaNkHTdtdLME4lQ.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Words, not Walls — 1

24 March 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: the weight of ink

Photo by Lukas Bachofner on Unsplash

the Disney exercise book; a matching set with pencil and ruler now represents the first image of self with company, with multiple Once Upon’s eating cookies from Auntie’s jar, glass tall and full, it was pure joy, pure optimism

her house was music and laughter until the jokes turned on me and I realized I could not respond, fast enough, with a come back good enough, so I laughed along with humiliation and red cheeks

a VHS recorded my uneasiness, an awkward giggle trapped how terrified I was within the cast of my skin

I go back to that exercise of writing it down, I can still see my 8-year -old hands fighting with words and licking paper-cuts

my monsters nibbled the ends of my tips and took off the top layer, in between thoughts of being lost or abandoned or alone like when I was 9-years-old and took that overdose

something was wrong, but not when I held my pencil and underlined titles as if I had plans

words opened me up and gave me a home and they held me together while stitching an ode and the wall then ceased to be a threat or a block or a No or a place to hit my head - it became scaffolding holding me up instead.

© Lennie Varvarides, March 2021

Thank you for reading, Words not Walls, inspired by another excellent prompt by J.D. Harms —

Other posts in this series include:

Words
Childhood
PTSD
Healing
Wednesday Prose Poem
Recommended from ReadMedium