Drunk and tired and thinking about a conversation I had recently with M (https://artandinsolence.com) so here we have it, a free-written rant for Day 3 of NaPoWriMo

I won’t write poetry

about birds / sheep / trees

or any of your other favourite

same safe premises regurgitated

bland and inoffensive sonnets about love unrequited

innocuous observations with tidy moral denouements

weak attempts at shock-factor Americanized to suit y’all

reminiscences on vague regrets that worked out for the better in the end

and cliched meditations on rain and thunder

and o! the sea! and all those words that went unsaid

yes I know I’d help your lit mag to reach its diversity quota

mentally disabled CHECK working-class CHECK woman CHECK writer

but honestly fuck your “40 lines and under”

I’ll stick to writing the reality I see

all blood and dread and trauma

and ugliness and grief

and battery and bad men

because the thing that’s trying to kill me

is the one who controls the pen

my murderer is the author

of all my shitty poetry

these words aren’t even mine

so you can’t have them either

not for clout or a Twitter feature

and certainly not for fucking free



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