Tag: Creative Writing

So You Didn’t Read My Stuff

I send loved ones this link,

volumes of poetry,

excerpts of novels I can’t commit to completing.

To them, I surrender everything I’m too coward to realize elsewhere.


They do not know how intimate it is for me to share.

My poor patchwork of phrases is the best I can offer this world,

the rawest roar of myself.


They don’t know the neglect I feel when it goes unread,

when my text gathers dust and falls into the well-intended never-done.


I don’t feel loneliest when I’m alone.

Lonely arrives in the aftermath of unshared intimacy,

in overestimating connection,

Allowing myself to hope dangerously

in the direction of you.


And I know

they’re just words to you.

The difference is,

you put emphasis on syllables,

I place it on meaning.


Don’t worry,

My words have been written in invisible ink before,

known past lives as silent screaming symphonies without a future concert hall.

I wonder if what I regard as diamonds in the rough

are little more than pedestrian pennies at the whim of foot traffic.

Perhaps that’s why¬†my words and thoughts and feelings are always passed by.




I don’t write for you

or them

or even because I want to.

Writing and sharing it

is a need.

To see myself, I write,

And therefore, to love me, you have to read me.