I won’t  tell my story to the wind. I’ll pen it down. Until I know its ins and outs I won’t relent. I’ll write because it brings me joy. I’ll write because it heals. My soul needs to hear my voice recorded on slate. The sound of the scratching is medicine unearthed. The clarity of thought is surprising. It’s as if the slate rearranged the mumbo jumbo that spilled out. I won’t tell my story to the wind. I’ll pen it down. 

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