Writing while branded isn’t as
difficult as it may seem.
Sure, your chest is ablaze
and your ego is smoldered to
And, yeah, your trust is overcooked
like charred meat
But still you manage to capitalize on
Acerbic words flood pristine paper
while sniffles mix with coagulated ink
Almost like blood seeping from
an unattended wound.
Sentences clamor and ooze
from raw skin while you tremble,
The agony, somehow, sweet——
Tastes like mesquite barbecue
on a hot Summer’s day.
Reminds you of that first loss ever
When Old Yeller laid broken on a
funeral pyre in your backyard.
See, all the poetry in the world won’t
resurrect your childhood friends
And, okay, you wrote a few lines
but once love fades it fades indefinitely ——
It is not the writing that sears but
the living we do afterwards that
Confounds and broils our creative
Roasts our inner Romantic down
to bones and ash and hopelessness
Even as we write to save our dreams
And weep to resurrect our words.