Breaking the Skin: Dani Rose

I’ve been writing my whole life. Feeling the curves of cerebrally negotiated symbols as my fingers press my instrument into the fabric of a surface. First crayons and coloring books where sketches became characters, then numbers in pencil at the teacher’s request, before I knew these thoughts were mine. I pressed marker into skin on my mother’s and younger brother’s hands and arms, and have written into my own skin in ways that press deeper than marks can ever express. Sometimes, I play with words and, at times, they play with me. Mostly, I write because there is nothing else that soothes my soul and releases my thoughts into cathartic waves of, sometimes, healing, sometimes, wtf, but waves nonetheless. I renegotiate reality on paper to be reinterpreted by those who choose to read, sometimes… or maybe I’m full of shit. Either way, I’m me.