it’s time for me
to get back to this
& you
to write differently
to scatter my thoughts onto the page
to be lovingly, breathlessly illegible
to care so little
to just spill
to spill over
to soften
to overflow
to trust that I will not— cannot— be forgotten
to let myself be Known
it’s almost 2 AM on a Saturday night & this is what it means to be alive (I’m writing dumb sweet poetry)
I liked you & I’m disappointed in you
I wanted to like you & you disappointed me
I want so much that it ignites me
I want so much that it sets me free
every woman is a fucking beautiful dreamer
or she would be, if she allowed herself to [be]
your dreams are prophecies
we met & I liked you & we never met again:
I ached with hope
I forgave you
I surrendered
I went about my life
I did it all
I loved it all
I chose it all
it was all worth it
sometimes— often— I want to share my “creative process”
but I’m still growing into myself
& those kinds of words
sometimes still feel
pretentious
my creative process is my feelings & the meaning[s] I make of them
my creative process is the way I walk myself through everything
I am proud of myself for good reason
there is love in my fire, and fire in my gaze
be the kind of woman who is here to stay
be the kind of woman who takes her own breath away
I am, I am, I am
emanating
"my creative process is the way I walk myself through everything"
me too.
thanks for sharing yourself :-)