Mid Flight

I start with a line

graphite—light
almost unsure of itself

because if I press too hard it becomes a commitment

and I’ve spent years
living inside commitments
that didn’t fully belong to me

I build it slowly

short strokes
adjustments
erasures
small negotiations with the page

I try to find the shape
something recognizable
something that makes sense

this is the part
I was taught to trust

the part that can be explained
justified
approved

I hear his voice here

clear
decisive

you can’t make a living with words
you can’t make a life out of art

so I learned

to keep it contained

to make it small enough
to exist without threatening anything

but it never stays

somewhere in the middle

my hand loosens

not because I decide to

because I can’t hold it anymore

and that’s when I reach
for water

I let it fall

not controlled
not measured

I let it touch the graphite
and pull it outward

and it spreads

past the edges
past the version
that was acceptable

past the place
where I could still say

this is just a drawing

and I watch it

because I know

this part is not about skill

this is release

this is the place
I was told
not to trust

words do the same thing

they start contained
careful
edited
safe

and then

they don’t

they spill
they move
they say things
I didn’t plan to admit

and I come here

again
and again
and again

not because I’m searching

because I cannot swallow it

I tried

for years

to keep it inside
to make a life
that didn’t need this

but something in me
refused

quietly

consistently

until it began to show up in my body

in that pressure
in that drop
in those moments
where everything looks fine

and still

something is missing

this

this is where it goes

this page
this space
this place where I don’t have to explain
or prove
or justify

this is where I am allowed
to exist
without translating myself

the bird appears here

or almost does

mid-flight
mid-fall
mid-becoming

I don’t try to fix it anymore

I let it stay unclear

because that’s the only way it feels honest

I used to think

if it couldn’t be something
I could live from

it wasn’t worth this

this time
this attention
this need

but now

I see it differently

this isn’t about making a living

this is about not disappearing

this is about giving shape to something in me that will not stay silent

and every time
I let it out

in lines
in water
in words

something in me
settles

not completely

never completely

but enough

to breathe

and maybe that’s what this is

not a career
not a plan

a place

where I don’t have to hold it all

where I can let it move

where I can let it be seen

where I can stop pretending

it isn’t there

and that

that is why

I keep coming back