#kirscribbles

I want ideas to hit me like a raging truck and leave me bleeding sonnets. Each word a clog in my lungs, each breathe an invocation. I never want to run out of prose, I need my pain spilled on paper. Otherwise, I’d be forced to wrap these hands— otherwise, I’d believe my father was right when he said I am not good enough.

and when she loves, she loves hard; you could give her a bouquet of dying flowers and watch them spring to beauty in her arms—

come here. come bring your baggage and we’ll unpack them together. this house is an evolving space. the interior, we will rearrange. you can pick the furniture and paint the walls. I will fill the yard with Daisies and dedicate you all their colors. come here. be the sunlight and the rain. come sit on the floor with me and we’ll share the mundane. or we could climb to the roof. watch the stars parade. you can wrap me in your steady bones where I’ll be safe to dream. and you can breathe out. you can shelve your fears. the doors will be locked but I’ll hand you the keys. this house will be warm even through the unknown. so come rest your heart now—because you are home.