My North Star

There is a pulse that runs from brain to hand

From hand to pen

An insatiable electricity that beats

With love

With fear

With loathing

With longing,

An emotional sinusoid

Oscillating up and down like the thin line of a heart monitor,

Thirsty for life.

This rhythm, these relentless lines form a map.

When night pervades and the moon is only a dull hangnail

Words push forward,

My North Star.

When Mom and Dad quarrel?

Write.

When school is unbearable?

Write.

When I feel positively, irrevocably screwed up?

Write.

And as the text pulses from pen to page

I somehow know.

I know to turn left at the fork in the road.

I know to go straight at the second stoplight.

I know where ‘X’ marks the spot.

I know because I am

And you are

And he is

And she is

And we are

All a little lost in this colossal world

Like frantic children searching for their parents at the supermarket.

But sometimes there are these beautiful things,

Things that no one can take away

They guide us through the gloom like bright paper lanterns

And as the clutches of night lose their grip

The path ahead is illuminated

And we march forward

Finally able to see that

We are free

We are loved

We are worthwhile.

So I write.