Why not love ourselves?

it’s strange to feel i can’t write any more

all these unfinished entries

these beginnings of words to fill this space

that seem to peter out to nothing

to what’s the point

to it’ll make no difference anyway

this unusual activity

this writing words on an empty page

sustained me so long.

and now perhaps it’s gone

and yet without it who am i?

my daughter katie wrote this years ago

before the world got to her

and made her sad

i loved it because when i was young

i so rarely felt this way

my childhood stolen by deep fear and shame

so i typed it out and stuck it on my microwave

next to dear david hume

and now

i write it out again

to see if it can help me speak.

or maybe it’s the fear that’s tightening up my body

that makes it so painful to sit and write

that in useless labour makes my muscles knit themselves

and leave my back so badly aching.

last week my singing teacher pointed out a thing

a small tilt of the head when reaching for a high note

and she pointed out with models and with diagrams

how this restricted the flow of air

and prevented access 

to the amazing echo chambers within the skull.

i undid the tilt

and the note sang out strong and clear and true.

i cried.

i caught a glimpse of wasted years

of frustration and of grief and songs unsung

and pain at the long long silence of my voice.

and now i ask:

am i afraid of death’s long silence

or afraid of the power of my singing voice?

Thank you for all your kind messages about my portrait of Susie.

They touched me deeply…

I’ve been drafting various newsletter posts since, but not being able finish any.

hence what I post today…

Grateful, as ever, for your support.