Being honest with my own memories. This week, I finished the last of four Zoom workshops sponsored by the Bronx Council on the Arts on memoir writing.

It was a heartfelt and supportive experience, with people from around New York, across the country, and as far away as England and Jamaica coming together in community for two hours each week over the past four weeks. Under the inspiring guidance of workshop leader Alicia Anabel Santos, participants explored memory as both a sometimes painful and sometimes soothing writing motivation.

During the last session this week, we were asked to consider what “creating dangerously” means when excavating (not my word, but thanks to the writer who used it) memories that we might have wished we had not uncovered.

Memories that refuse to fade away into the black hole deep in our brains.

Sorry, I can’t do that.

And I have plenty of those.

Those of us who would rather not face the black hole write around it, heave lies onto it, cover it with flowers, and mark it with a headstone that shouts

Here lies the lies on top of the lies.

There’s no burying the truth.

And it never feels good. Or works. The truth of those memories seems to have a strength of its own, pushing up, reaching for the light, punching through the darkness, to touch my heart.

Creating Dangerously

There’s no time left
              before the memory fades
disappears 	
              completely
before you disappear 
              completely
before you can explain
              why
more 
              than how
more 
              than any explanation 
              matters
to anyone
              but you

To write	
              exposing yourself
being naked 	
              against the truth
being content		
              with the lies
more than the truth
	
              [What is truth
	       Who cares]
 
that has masked your life
more than the lies

Cause the lies 	
                 left you comfortable
                 safe
until you learn 
                 the truth

There is no safety in 	
                 lies
that must be covered up 
                 by more lies
repeating the lies 
                 to cover the lies
until the lie is 
                 the truth

And you wont know
                your name
                your birthdate
                your address
                your age
                your memories

Are fake

Your life never existed.

See my story about the Bronx Council on the Arts and other creativity outlets in the Bronx HERE.