Midnight Letter


(Editors Note: I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted.  I am working on things I would like you to pay for, and I can’t do that by giving away content for free. 

Secondly, this poem is meant for poets, but I had other walks of life in mind, as well.  Apply where necessary.)

If you’re afraid to write something
Then you know it’ll be one of your best.
Nothing great is birthed by constant comfort
You are you.

That pull in your torso is what your soul feels like when it’s vulnerable
The ideas inside you have recognized their power
And are tugging at the barriers you allow fear and perfectionism to construct
Margins are only for paper
You’ve been writing along the walls of your ribs for so long
Your lungs exhale inspiration

Don’t say you don’t know what to say
Say my best is on its way
Breathing doubt onto your slate clouds your view of your words
Your creativity will look poisonous
And not like the life breath needed for the seeds in your cropped garden to grow.

I say this to say
To you
To us

Shut the fuck up and write.


Leave a comment

(Fragmented, a little. Written while resting under a tree on Constitution Avenue. There may end up being more to this.)

Our souls were so ancient
That we prove love will never succumb to Alzheimer’s
I stitched those synapses with the stems of forget-me-nots
Within memory’s grasp
Far enough from its touch
But right there on the tip of my tongue

Mouth fixed because it remembers enunciation
Voice hopes hands caress it
Or put it out its misery
Your name makes my saliva taste like cotton
And burns like fresh chamomile tea.
But the more sips taken
You ease my asphyxiation.
But tough to swallow
Maybe we need to cool down
I’ll blow my lips over the stea
And try again later.