Birds in Glass Castles

Introduction

"Live a life worth writing about" is a poorly recalled quote many accredit Benjamin Franklin. However, no matter how inaccurate it may be, this quote was something my father said to me once.

"Live a life worth writing about," I always thought meant taking leaps of faith, opening my eyes, and sprinting across hot coals. I thought it meant jumping from clifftops without a plan as to how to get back up. Sometimes, it was. Not always, though.

At the end of this collection, I realized that I had forgotten what writing was. I forgot why I loved to do it; I forgot what it was like to write. I hated how it took me hours to chew through a paragraph of my work because my mind had to rewrite one sentence so it fits with the rhythm I was speaking. I remembered how hard fighting this dragon of writers' block was.

When I struck up the will to release these poems, I remembered I had stopped writing for myself at some point. 

Somewhere on this journey, I broke. I was lost for a very long time during this collection. I didn't think I had anything to say- but the truth is-- I had a lot to say. I was just afraid to say it. 

Whether it be novels or poetry, writing is so much more than words on pages. 

Writing is pure, unadulterated exposure. It's letting go, showing the world the most intimate parts of your tender flesh, and opening your fragile soul to the bared teeth of the world itself. Writing can feel like pushing a giant iron block up a staircase with a superpowerful magnet at the bottom. 

Writing is overwhelming, like a long stretch of land before you that's filled with bustling communities of people you're afraid of. Yet, as a writer, you'll inevitably have to face that.

You'll have to face them. All of them.

The truth is, no matter how much I like to claim I want to be a writer and that I love writing- 

Well, writing is the scariest thing I have ever done.

Yet, writing is also the most liberating thing I have ever done. I don't feel as free when I'm walking outside as I do dancing in the magic of my mind's eye. I can revisit that autumn morning in Frankfurt, where the smell of bustling morning markets and the warmth of freshly baked chimney cakes flooded my senses-- like a cacophony of delight that swallowed the entire building in its warmth. So utterly contrary to the nipping chill that whipped through the building every time the doors flung open and shut. Writing is the freedom to recall and record the smell of the crisp autumn air from the porch of my childhood home, waiting for my father's birthday cake to cool in the kitchen so I could frost it before he got home from work. I can revisit those memories, write them down to the way the air had brushed by my neck to the way I looked up towards the sky and thought, "How beautiful."

Writing lets me walk without fear, the same way it makes me afraid.

That's because writing is based on the truth, and the truth is as liberating as it is scary. This collection is filled with woes and mild comforts, vicious annoyances, and bittersweet memories. 

This collection is full of me. In my rawest, most unfiltered form. Afraid, yet free.