Ren Zhang (they/them) // Contributor
Jordan Richert (he/him) // Illustrator
I was lying on my bed and crying about poetry
Why couldn’t I create a beautiful thing.
If I existed it I think I’d be formless with no history
Or maybe that’s just my dissociation talking
Every time I bring my attention back to authors artists writers creators they drag meters of
colourful fabric up from the curled mess in my stomach
Like a magic trick up a hidden sleeve
Instead of a water pipe explosion
A bloodletting or a fountain streaming
I remember myself
and you
Instead of trial by fire you led me to water
Put me out to pasture in soft memories
in the storm I ride on the tail of your crest
you receive me on your shores where the foam kisses the sand
me in mornings and you as dew
Your pen, my thoughts, the stories written on the soles of my feet
You, in thousands of iterations and me, in thousands of interpretations
Buoyant I am, and
You are the soft place
I land.
