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Handwritten

Handwritten

A dirty word in this day and age,

Something to be scoffed at

The new cave art of the poor,

Who can’t use or afford a computer.

Never seen as anything more

Then Shabby.

 

 

 

Pens,

Writing utensils come in all forms

Ink, rollerball, hitech nib, eraser.

I just want a pen that works!

One that freely flows and follows my fast hand

As I desperately try

to explain.

 

 

 

Handwritten

is the preparation, the scribble

the initial thought process.

So really it’s the magic – the idea!

In those sullied margins and scored through words

Are the beginnings of something

from within

 

 

 

Paper

is something I love, not like a fetish you understand. But clean

and crisp and white and waiting

for it’s story, it’s chance, it’s page to be written.

Like I once was a long time ago,

Before you.

 

 

 

Handwritten

Is my own special way of telling you

how I feel, what’s going on

inside my tumultuous brain,

of explaining how it feels to be regimented

and governed by external forces.

Namely, meds.

 

 

 

Inkstains

Used to crowd my fingers like welcome warts.

A badge of honour for me,

indication of writing,

of ideas and feelings transferred, captured, understood

and written.

 

 

 

Handwritten,

Each curve, loop, punctuation mark

A release, a sigh, a

direct reflection of me.

A cathartic, therapeutic, outpouring

that contains the truth, the words

I swallow.

 

 

 

Typing,

Always seems so anaemic to me.

It takes away the passion,

Synergy of mind and body

as you furiously translate your heart beat

and firing synapses and desires

to paper.

 

 

 

Handwritten.

A shabby, half prepared way of saying

I’m regaining control,

I’m reconnecting with me.

finding ways of writing again and living,

of saying I Love You Always

Hand Written.

 

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About Becky Bite

Dementia Friend & Champion, Editor of The Bite Magazine, Jewellery Designer, Writer, Geek.

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