Every poem I write is like a journal entry
I like to think my best pieces are created
When I physically put pen to paper
In these moments, the earth stands still
Sitting with my toes buried beneath the sand
Honestly, I don’t like the feeling that much
But I make the sacrifice because the waves are calming
And the view is endless, just like my hopes for the future
I always wonder how much of a writer’s work
Is a description of themselves versus a comment on the world
And what does it say about me to have written my best pieces on paper
If that means anything at all
Most of the time I have no idea where the poem is going
And I often have no clue where it came from
Yet, whenever I get the urge to write I pick up a pen
Scribble the thoughts, read it out loud, cringe
Take a deep breath, quiet my mind, reread the first line
And start over again

Photo provided by: unsplash-logoJakob Owens