When I am full, I wake up in the morning needing to put distance between my head and my tailbone. I need to twist my muscles to make sure that I am filling every gap of myself, like a mould.
I am contented in quiet, and fulfilled by conversation. It is easier to make eye contact than it is to keep my head hanging low because my spine has too much support to be anything but straight.
When I am full I can run on coffee. I can eat a 3 course meal and still have room for dessert. I am a fish in water, but also a bird in a tree, as well as the space between even strides in my comfort to go anywhere.
When I am full, I can run straight into traffic and be faster than anything that could hit me. I am limitless. I am buzzing, like I am hooked up to an energy line – I am the energy itself. Like my pulse is more than a heart beat. Like all the things I can do overlap into one continuous line that folds over and over until there is no room in me except for this path.
When I am full my anxieties are quieted because my ideas are too loud. The adventures of my fingers across a keyboard; with a pen in hand taking over the torchlight that guides the way from imagination to reality. Or as much reality than can lay on flat white paper between a binding – which is almost the equivalent to the reality of blue blood encased in scarred skin.
When I am full, everything I make is a little more alive than I am because it will never be empty.