Speak to it
softly at first,
so as not to frighten the poor thing off or discourage it.

Recite it affirmations
about how beautiful its flame will be
dancing in the summer breeze,
or how its brightness will scatter the thickest of shadows,
and its warmth will be a balm
to cold, desperate hands.

Tell it stories,
of bonfires, chandeliers, and matches.
Inspire it with all it could be.

Fill the air around it with expectation.

Then, when you see the wick just itching to spark,
ignite your match or lighter
and hold it inches away.
Let it feel just how much impact a single flame can make,
before allowing it full life
and full breath
as it dances in your hand,
eager to glow and fight the shadows of the night.

Listen now,
the night is speaking.
A cool breath on the back of your neck
that traces your outer ear
like the breath of a lover
in an empty bed.

You can tell yourself
that it's only crickets
car engines
the breeze
or the air conditioning.

But we both know the truth.
The night surrounds you
dark arms cradling
nughtmares and reams alike.

What do you hear
in its soft whisper?
And why do you insist so much
that it isn't real?
Why does your heart pound so quickly?
Why does it scare you so?

Bodies are traitors
once sickness takes hold and your
nose wants to explode.

I wish that I was sitting by the ocean's edge.
The sand soft beneath me
and the tide's rhythm running through me,
keeping time with my heatbeats.

I wish the scents of saltwater and sunscreen filled my nose,
while seagulls call out jokes as they jog by.

I wish I could stand up and leap into the water
letting it carry me wherever it wished,
and that I could float on it for hours
days even
and forget about everything else for a while,
except the sun and sea.

Shadows flicker and
flee the flames, lashing out through
heat resistant grates.

Simple sounds in a rhythm, coursing
through my veins. Keeping my heartbeat
going strong, my feet tapping
the ground in time. Hearing
it takes away my
worry and pain.
Music makes
my soul
​dance.

Amaze me with your words!
Baffle me with poetry forms and stories that
can only be created by you.
Don't give in to the fear that they won't make sense.
Everyone feels that way at the beginning.
Fear will keep that glaringly blank page white, and
good God is it too bright! It's blinding me!
Help me by scribbling a little on it, please?
I don't need much.
Just a sentence. There, that's better! Now,
keep writing. See, you've got it!
Look at what you've created already.
Magic lines and circles that transmit thought silently.
No, it's magic. Shush! Don't crush my dreams...
Okay, now read what you wrote. It
paints a picture, doesn't it?
Quit rolling your eyes, I'm helping!
Really, this right here came from your brain.
Somebody else would have written it differently,
told another story, or scoffed and walked away.
Unlike them, you made a thing! A
very nice thing, might I add!
Well, let me know if you wanna write more. Oh, you do? Now? Cool!
Xenomorph fan fiction? Awesome!
You will enrich the Alien fan base.
Zombies are more my style,
​but go for it! Let's write!

So let's be honest here.
Words are hard.
Writing is hard.

And some days are a lot harder than others.
What can we do on those days?
The ones where everything we write sounds stupid to us,
or end up being the exact opposite of what we meant.
When our characters go on strike,
or fly to Hawaii on an unplanned vacation
and forget to send us our invite.

Well, some of my favorite things
are to either talk about writing,
write about writing,
or just ignore the fact that my writing seems stupid
and just plow away on my keyboard,
determined to mine something out of my brain-mush,
even if it's simply ridiculous and rambley.
Because at least I'm writing.
I'm not giving up.

And yes, I'd call some of that Horrible.
I might even call this 'Horrible'.
Ask me about that tomorrow,
when I'm not sleep deprived and a little bit deranged.

But, because I wrote today
and made it a point to update this blog,
I'm going to say that I won.
Huzzah, for little victories!
And guess what?
I suck a little less than I did yesterday,
because I did this thing
and didn't let my doubts overtake my love for this weird writing stuff.

Don't stop writing.
Even if it's horrible.
At least you haven't given up on your story
and on yourself.
That's better than most people can say.

Hey guys, here's a little side note for you. What prompted this poem, is an interview that I did with Paul Sating on his podcast called (you guessed it!) Horrible Writing.

It's really fun, and if you wanna hear it, here's the link:
http://horriblewriting.lisbyn.com/website/category/49-using-writing-to-communicate-when-you-cant-with-poet-cheyenne-bramwell

Have a wonderful day! I love you guys <3