neglecting the little pieces

and putting it all back together again.

I am a sucker for a good quote. Words move me, I feel them in my bones. They stay with me so much, rattling around in my brain, that I keep a notebook filled with other people's words, these lovely quotes. I get them out of my head and onto paper where I can turn to them again and again.

I hold onto these words, these quotes, because on the days when I am locked in my own head and my internal storm threatens my equilibrium, I turn to words. I turn to verbs and nouns, adjectives and adverbs, punctuation marks filled with hope when I am drowning in despair.

I love words so much that I feel compelled to unburden my thoughts and share them to help others feel less alone. When someone else is drowning, I want them to know that I can reach out a helping hand. Let me bring you to the shore and dry you off. Let me hold you until the shaking stops and your heart rate lessens to not be that of a butterfly trapped in a cage.

Let me help you with my words.

My words are all I have, and I freely give them. Once upon a time I sat on my words, I let them fester inside of me. I balled them up in my small fist, burning with unshed tears at my words failing to fly free. I felt unfulfilled, my words begging for release, constricting my breath, haunting me that I would not give them freedom. I felt the whelm, the over and the under of it all, my words waiting for their turn in the sun.

I felt the ache that all creatives feel, when they need their proverbial outlet and are drowning in a miasma of their own making. Temporary becomes permanent if you aren't careful and apathy becomes that drinking buddy whom you abhor but listen to when they tell you to have one more drink, who's going to know.

So, I sat with my little pieces, the pieces who make up who I am. I caressed them and told them I was sorry that they had been neglected so. I listened to their pleas for emergence and their need to feel alive. I held my little pieces and promised not to hide them anymore.

And so here I am, all the pieces of me. And I am here sharing my words.

Words make me come alive; they make me feel something. They make me take that risk and just jump into the ether that is a community blogosphere. Words make my hand hurt from writing; my fingers numb from typing. Words make me cry and laugh in the same 30 second interval. They make me rage at the unfairness in the world.

They give rise to my little pieces.

And I am no longer detached from the essence of who I am.