inspire me do me a favor: kiss me until the sun comes up so i have something to write poems about.
i’m tired of writing about places that don’t exist, homes we built and watched burn. i’m tired of pretending that there were no fires; i’m tired of pretending that it doesn’t hurt.
i’m tired of writing letters that no one reads, i’m tired of giving everything to people who don’t love me.
you see things differently when you don’t have home to go back to. a bed is just a bed, an old piano is just cracked black and white keys, a person is just another body with too much potential to ruin you.
so let me love you now, slowly. i am ready to write about something real, something i can prove; i want to write novels about the way you look at me -and baby i can write until your name is inscribed on walls in foreign cities, until the words you say to me are tattooed on stranger’s hearts - but more than anything i want to be able to say that every word i write about you is true.
just give me some time. give me time to figure out how to come back from years of fiction, years of pretend. give me time and i promise, i’ll learn to hold on to the important things and let go of the rest. i’ll learn to breathe without the memories suffocating me.
and then i’ll write, and write, and write; and we’ll never die.
Please fire me. We recently hired a new general manager, who tends to over-explain very simple things. Today, regrettably, I asked him to double check a tax exemption profile I filled out, as it was federal and I’m more accustomed to state. The thirty minute seminar ended with him explaining how to use a stapler remover.