Writing is like prostitution.
Selling your soul to the page.
Just as I begin to feel some emotion,
In the midst of my crushing sadness or miraculous contentment,
I think,
This would make an amazing poem,
And there I am,
Grabbing my journal and letting all that’s human in me go away
For the sake of one hundred, possibly decent words of writing.
I find it better to be overly emotional more of the time;
It makes the words flow better.
And that’s how we explain
Why all artists are insane.


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