pain of certain rejection.
once i had finished my poem, other ideas seemed to come from nowhere. i don’t know if it was my exhaustion or my empty stomach that left my mind free to think of new things to write, but whatever it was, i woke up the next morning with several pages of messy words written in a sloppy, blind hand. i wrote a bit more, no longer as frantic, but still just as thoughtful.
uncomfortable at the time, i want to go back to that moment. see what i was thinking. i want to be able to have ideas like that out of the blue without the sadness, but 