To Write is To…
March 30, 2017
It’s the paper, the pencil
The computer, the document
The book, the author
The emotion
It is not talent or practice
It is honesty
Pure trust in oneself
Realness
Raw giving of oneself
It is taboo and confession
Secret and opening
Divine in its welcoming
The complexities is what you write
You don’t write what’s easy, you don’t write what’s simple to grasp
You reach, stretch out your slim hands, fingers thick with want, anticipation
Grabbing all the ideas you can take, like stars, your heart tumescent
It puts a smile on your face
Writing isn’t tedious, it is tempting, it is redeeming
You write what makes you cry, what moves you, what keeps you up at night, what gets you going
It is not an ordinary job or hobby, it’s a movement, a nice meal, your guilty pleasure
The fulfillment of the words become you
It’s nothing else but you, you and your room, your brain
It’s the unconsciousness, it’s the loving of phrases and styles
The unknowing, the fear, the oblivion of what words will spill
When I write I don’t think, I feel
I feel what my heart speaks and I write its cry, endlessly, beautifully
It’s like brewing coffee, the aroma of french vanilla roast
Sweet to your nose
The warmth soothes your throat
Like the pencil hugs your hand not the other way around
The keyboard and its letters kiss the buds of your fingers
They welcome you home, enveloping your joints
It’s like sitting on top of a mountain, alone, warm breeze, hope in your heart, adventure on your mind
The smooth yet rough rock lays against the palm of your hands, cool water running through the lake
Chilly, clear, purifying
A baptism, the water softening the thickness of hair, hand on your head, the chants of saints, the bells
The choir, rejoicing, singing in a precise harmony, white robes, bright lights
You wade in the water
Cleansing, the scent of lemons, creamy lavender, hot honey, wax dripping, sweet aloe, warm, early, sunny mornings
Being real in your words makes you invincible
Untouchable
Unreachable
It heals, soothes the tension in the neck, cracks the back muscles
Writing is like the strings on a violin
Thin, but sturdy
Complicated, maddening, shrieking
The pluck of the musician’s finger
It’s a knock on the door, welcomed visitor
Its presence like fresh air
It puts you at peace, tranquility
You write to serve a purpose
It’s like dancing to your favorite song, no one watching, blinds closed
Blasting an old record, swinging in the room
The wood, your dancefloor
The wall your mirror, you focus
Hair swinging
Sweat sticking to your back
Letting loose
Swaying your hips to the beat
Rhythmic, on beat
To write is to be real
To be you
To love, immensely
To learn and teach, forever
To be a ‘titan’, relentless, bold, frank with every word
Vivid, original, unique, truth and honesty. Candor.
Peace and madness
Happiness and sadness
Love and Hate
Fiction and fact
Satirical and serious
Opinionated
Religious
Historical
Truthful
Simply Beautiful

Janae Polk is a senior at Da Vinci Communications and is the Editor-in-Chief of The Vitruvian Post. Although she spends most of her spare time reading...
Beautiful. You literally slay my life.
you’ve done it againn
Yesss!!! Literally spoke my life
Amazing once again