By: Jennifer Fox
I write to examine, to hold
the world with its beautifully jagged
pieces between my thumb and forefinger, and
rub them smooth like a pocketed worry stone.
I write to create, to give
birth to new worlds, to give characters life with
the stroke of a pen, to treat the page as
a surrogate for my traitorous womb.
I write to destroy, to wreck
walls and slay monsters, to strike
matches and feed flames, and walk
barefoot through the ashes that remain.
I write to feel, to rip
sutures with my teeth, to rub knuckles into
wounds, and run fingers over the memories that
blanket my skin in scarred topography.
I write to numb, to distract,
to reverse gravity, to shoot Novocain straight
into the heart, and remain suspended
in a blissful state of indifference.
I write to remember, to forget,
to be everything that was, ever could be, and never
will, and to be all the things that creep
into the spaces in between.
I write to be heard, to reclaim
a voice once silenced, to stand in
the vibration of its echo, and turn
whispers into hurricanes.
Jennifer Fox is a western New York native and MFA candidate at Lindenwood University. She is a staff reader for Thirty West Publishing House and has had work featured in Across the Margin, The Daily Drunk Mag, The Write Launch, Disquiet Arts, and Anti-Heroin Chic.
Find Jennifer @jennfoxwriter on Twitter.