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What are you waiting for?
when I write alone
I visit a friend
I find her sulking, pacing,
waiting her turn
in her dark secluded corner
she shies away
but when I write alone I let her play
she makes visible
what superficial lenses miss
she carries my baggage
all my burdens and shame
through her eyes I’m a slave to expectation
but when I write alone she says “Fuck perfection”
throughout the day, no one can hear her
she never fights inside her cell
a good girl, she sits
silently suppressed
but when I write alone we’re a vessel possessed
set free under lamp light
I let her write,
write, open her veins
sometimes it’s heartfelt, seductive, or lame
but she scribbles and scratches whatever comes out
for several minutes or pages, until nothing remains
and our hearts beat with a sated tone
then I tuck her away for next time, when I write alone
