All day I had a fire storm buzzing in my brains.
Had your name on thoughts
Tagged like all the posts you never manage to have the time to read.
And I was furious with the world.
Furious with you for breaking things you didn’t know you had your fingers on.
And I tried worshiping at the feet of great poets.
Tried breathing in their words
In hopes that my next exhale would sound half as good as theirs.
I was sick of being ignored and tossed in the back
Like the fourth child of a family that was tired two children before.
And then I saw it
The glimmer of light on my horizon
That signaled these stormy clouds
Were far from my bed.
Something so messed up
My sleeping pill drowsy eyes couldn’t comprehend it.
And I don’t care if it’s just the pills kicking in
Or if it’s truly something I can’t understand
But it reminded me that even great poets
That even my worst poems
Are worth writing
Because the bad poets
Are the ones who stop writing.
So you are still a great poet with your misconstrued words I can’t understand.
Take no offense at these slurred syllables.
Do not think them stones tossed to tear you down
No arrow has left my bow aimed at your heart.
Just know that just because I’m brave enough
To throw everything I write
Up onto a screen for people to read
Doesn’t make me any less of a writer than you.
You may have the skill
You may have the experience
You may have the fan base
I have the heart to weather the storm.
By the way this is the 415th poem I’ve written in 287 days.