A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

I write for you
though you'll never see it.

I write for you
I write when you're gone
I miss you when you're gone

If you won't see it
strangers who don't know me will.

They don't see your face when they read this
they don't hear your voice

They have their own face to see and voice to hear.

You were always here for me.
Even when you weren't next to me,
you were in my heart.
At night I looked up in the sky
even if I didn't see the moon
I knew it was there.
I let you go
and I hope you will come back
because the moon
doesn't shine without the sun
and the sun can't rise
without the moon.