The Words of My Heart

That Lonely Feeling

Anxiously waiting for him to notice me, to need me, to want me. I know that I’m important to him, but it’s hard to believe since he only calls upon me at the end of the night. Sometimes it’s days, weeks, or months before he touches me. But every time that he picks me up, it feels like the first time. Every movement is delicate yet assertive. Every touch has a purpose. As he sits me down, I pray that it’s not over—waiting to see if he’s satisfied and hoping that it’s not months before I feel his hands again. He looks away, looks at me, looks away one more time, and back at me. At last, he grabs me one last time to finish the job. Relieved, I shudder under his touch. Sometimes I wish the Creator of the universe made me a piece of paper instead of a pair of scissors. At least he and I will be together forever, but I really wish he would write more.

Hi, my name is Gary, and I’m a craft-dabbler™. For as long as I can remember, I have always loved the idea of dreaming and creating. When I was a little boy, I would draw for hours, make paper planes, attempt origami, build with blocks, marshmallows, or anything I could find. I would make ramps for real and pretend activities, collect cards, or simply get lost in my thoughts. Even as I’ve aged, one day I’m learning to photoshop, and the next day I’m researching and pricing small blocks to construct the city of the future because, who knows, it’s not too late to become an architect—or maybe someone will see my design and want to bring my idea to life; both are reasonable possibilities, right?. However, no matter where my craft-dabbling takes me, one thing always remains.

Poetry

I love to write! I love how words evoke everything from feelings to flavor. I love how sentences become memories and memories become landmarks to the most significant moments in our lives. I create poems about nature, heartbreak, injustices, love, family, marriage, friendship, and the many facets of life and how they intertwine. I write poetry on paper, skin, post-its, or whatever I can find at the moment. Some of my greatest poems never leave my mind, but their impact permeates through my bloodstream and influence my speech, actions, and future pieces of work.

I love poetry because everything is poetic. I experience life so deeply in my soul that I owe it to my tongue to provide a small taste of what I feel inside. I owe it to my fingers to be a part of history as they communicate divine messages hidden in the invisible places between my heart and its beat. I owe it to my eyes to read and process the colors too deep for them to process.

I am a poet because I see beauty even in areas where I am not talented. When I look at a knitted scarf, I see the perseverance of a single thread repeatedly stretched outside of its comfort zone and manipulated into something inconceivable when the yarn was created. I see that beauty in dexterity—working and weaving one object into another with focus and determination—the lived-out desire of our body parts collaborating as they work together to alter the universe through creating.

A Poet’s Tools

I consider my body an instrument designed to create—to bring peace, joy, and thought to the world. However, an artist’s physical tools are extremely important, regardless of how minor they are. As mentioned in the opening line, quality scissors are critical to each and every poem that I sell. After writing, selecting the perfect cardstock color and weight, I have to trim the paper to the perfect size to place in the frame before packing and shipping. My goal is to trim each angle perfectly the first time, and a sharp and dependable pair of scissors make that possible. Moreover, reliable tools are invaluable for minor corrections or complicated shapes—and of course, the aesthetic is the cherry on top!

Okay, thank you for reading my story—time to go write!