Pen struck paper,
Ink stained white or,
Lead glided smoothly along the surface,
and things begin to happen.
When pen and paper met,
and intertwined in each other,
a contrivance of meanings,
a symbolism of ideas taking form,
literally taking form,
so as to be communicated and expressed,
to be shared,
to escape repressive things,
shy, angry, ugly, hurt and pain and rage and all that…
Pen struck paper and all became clear,
and weight was shed and peace and calm came to visit,
in the moments when strokes made symbols,
and birthed words with meaning,
its a cleaning of the soul, kind of.
It doesn’t solve all at once,
not a cure all to be found,
but there is something in taking a mass communion of understanding,
to bring about understanding, to be understood,
that makes all things in this place
seem smaller, less daunting, less overly large,
less isolated, less crazy screaming into the wind.
There is comfort in words and terms and language,
there is the feast of the intellectual and the meeting of raw emotional selves,
connected across time and space by pages,
What better reason, what better way,
than to meet pen with paper and become naked?