Not Talent, No.

Pieces of her writing and and words shove me through the page until I am there and have to blink away the vision, shocked that words could grab me so. Not talent, no. But the ability to craft a reader to a writer’s soul.

I actually wrote this about an author whose book I am currently reading. I am not done reading the book yet, but I hope the ending is as beautiful and as grasping as her writing. Let’s give a shoutout to the artists who inspire other artists and keep the magickal flow of passion dancing in us all.

Book I am reading: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

The Poetess

The musk of her words

Brings tears

like rainfall.

A weeping rain.

Heart caged.

Pulling at the bite.

The poetess.

Destroyer of Content.

The Bringer of the Real.

Keeper of the Imprints of Hearts.

When her words fall,

the world aches.

And there is no thing as a better place or time.

Ink Circulates Magick

The ink circulates words like magick making them visible from my hand. The notebook now full, I lift the tome heavy with ink flowing through it word for word like blood flows through me. The volume recognizes a piece of myself transfered letter by letter. I smile at the magick as I tuck it away.