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When you neglect your writing

it builds up in you

like a sickness

an ever-present

literary malaise.

“Oh, but tomorrow…”

you say

“I’m not in the right headspace…”

“It’s better to watch things

on Netflix and Hulu

(for inspiration?)”

you half-heartedly convince yourself.

Meanwhile, your writing waits

like Bertha in the attic,

waiting eternally for

a glimpse of Rochester.

Your writing continues to go quite mad.

What were once tide pools of imagination and possibility

have changed into cesspools

filled with heart ache,

desire, frustration,

gluttony, procrastination

and last year’s insurance cards.

When you forget to write,

choose not to write

you are actively distancing

you from yourself.

For,

when you write

really write

when you let it flow

honest and ungraceful

you are granted entry

to a most peculiar pathway:

you are able to steep in the tea of yourself

you are able to distill yourself

into your purest essence.

Even just for a page or two.

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