Write On, Right On

I recently came across several short stories I wrote in high school and college. I’d forgotten about most of them. My fiction writing professor at UT Austin told me the last time I saw him that I should not stop writing because as he said, “you’ve got something. That thing that can’t be named.” I think now they refer to that as the X factor or something. Who can be sure if it’s really true? We were at a bar, after all, and he had a few pints in him at that point.

Stock Image from Pixabay

As I skimmed through my old writings, I remembered his statement and thought, “Did I walk away from something I should have kept at? Is it too late to go back? Can I still even find words to string together and paint pictures of imaginary people and places?”

It’s never too, late, they say.

Whoever they are.

Maybe I will write more. Maybe I will pick up a pen or sit at the computer in front of writing software and make it real again.

Today, I’ll share a poem I wrote last year. Just something I jotted down in a journal and of no real value to anyone other than me, I think.

The Skin I’m In
by Jennifer Esneault

this skin that holds me in
holds me back
holds me under
it tells me it is mine
and I am its own

but I don’t recognize
it anymore

it’s thin
and wrinkled
and stretched

it doesn’t match my insides

it’s ill-fitted and ugly

I’ll peel it off and pare it back

I can be beautiful again

“Bound By Love” Copyright Jennifer Esneault
Model: Avery Mykel

Jeez, that whole poem reeks of poor body image. Perhaps that’s something I can work on, too.


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