The Beauty of Dead Birds
straight out of my journal.
Your scars echo in your voice. It's beautiful to embrace misunderstanding. Your raw language infiltrates in a compelling, eerie way. Standing on the wound. I want to lose it all one more time. Help me forget for just a little while.
...I feel this is such a deep and unbearably upfront short. The voice comes directly from that black hole. Dark and beautiful.
It reminded me of the first time I saw a dead bird. Pushing his belly down was getting some air through his beak, making some noise fairly close to the typical singing.
Thanks.
Your writing is so very powerful and you are brave to share such personal sentiments. It is only my humble opinion, but I think it is particularly compelling because it doesn't pander for anything. It doesn't demand understanding, necessarily, nor empathy, it simply aches to be heard. But in so doing (not asking, not needing more), is all the more endearing.
"I have fought through the grayness, I have fought for the hoax of color.
I believe in the possibility of seeing the shades of violet and scarlet
and emerald that I have been blind to."
Lovely. Dark and terrible, but lovely.
