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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Always seems so anemic 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.

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.

By: Becky Bite


2 thoughts on “Handwritten

  1. danakorneisel April 2, 2013 / 10:35 pm

    I can never write a poem in type! I very much enjoyed how you expressed your place on the subject in your poem, ‘Handwritten’.
    (by the way, thanks for the follow. I look forward to seeing what NaPoWriMo turns up for you).

    • Becky Bite April 3, 2013 / 6:55 pm

      Thanks so much, that’s really kind! I’m looking forward to the journey.

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