the thing about imperfect prose is that they are imperfect. sometimes the desire for perfection keeps me from throwing my words out there, as raw and real and unrefined as they are. and so for now, i strive to write.
for me words are soul food. soul food is known as southern food, rich, satisfying and sometimes for special occasions.
i love words. i have from an early age. i have consumed them desperately like a soul drowning longs for a life preserver. and yet i have found, that sometimes words are too much for me. I carry them long and hard within me…and they don’t satisfy or comfort, but rather cause a bit of heartburn.
i am a sensitive person. I am an intuitive person. as such, i often come away from words, taking the journey with me, each word going down deep into me, shaping a bit of my thinking, the way my heart burns for issues, a little bit of learning to see myself in a new light.
but the food i want to stay with me is the comforting food, the uplifting lilting voices. the words that often stick with me are the wounded ones, the ones that speak words that my voice seems unable to speak or perhaps speak of journeys i can’t even begin to fathom.
and so like feasting on a good ole southern meal, there is decadence and such amazing flavour and my tummy gets full, but as I linger on that food and eat just a bite more, i sense my body rebelling and the heartburn begins. i believe the indulgence was worth it. but perhaps more self awareness of when i’m really full would be best. the same with my intake of words…i need to step away from them sometimes, feel the silence envelope me, work through those words that are causing such discontent within me.
only then perhaps it will be safe again to return to the heart quickening consumption of these words.