Inked

You are on the planet with a brain functional enough to formulate a question. True, there are some “What is the point?” days. There are days when everyone in the world has had the same idea you have had. You begin to feel like you’re spinning on the same wheel. The Earth and the sun and the wind are all going about their business but you feel as solid as a stone. Just let it all out. Don’t get yourself another notebook. It’s not a pretty place filled with blank pages. No, that is the worst possible idea. Get a book that’s already been filled with words. Something old, reeking even. Dug up from the mess that is your attic and your basement and every other forgotten room. Write the words that other people have already written. Memorize beautiful passages so that you can imbue them within your atoms. When people invent powerful enough microscopes (or better yet, bother to use their eyes) they will see the good inside of you. Write other people’s words down. Write them wherever there is space. On your arms, legs. I like writing from my elbow up. Write adventures on your ankles and draw on yourself. Put that pen to good use and colour in the empty canvas that is your skin. You don’t need to be the greatest person to figure it out. Do it without restraint. You can thank me when you are all inked up and pretty.