the hard part about writing isn't the writing,
it's the feeling.
how long can you linger in the lump of your ache?
dare you whisper the worst words of all?
when the rain rises from your teeming past
do you run around with tiny buckets, trying to catch
a storm so grand?
or do you let what must, be drenched?
dare you stay with the raw dripping slashing skipping
to bleed something true?
tiny drops, deep red
for a moment
you enter the cracking thunder
houses and heroes and heartache fall around you
and you, a queen of courage,
you hold your gaze
you take the hits
you let everyone see
the way it looks
to be rumbled
PS--I'm writing a poem a day for the month of August and sending them each to one person only. Head right here to find out how to get in on the magic. There are about 15 spots left. xo