Write, right?


You bring out the writer in me.
The black knit beanie and kohl eyeliner.
The staying up till midnight catching words like fireflies on a page.
You bring out the writer in me.
The surburban star gazer in asphalt parking lots.
Bad poetry in blue ink on the back of my hands.
You bring out the writer in me.
Living your life in adjectives.
Watching you for a clue as to what is behind your poker face.
You bring out the writer in me.
San Francisco eyes have me flipping through the thesaurus for more words to describe fog.
You bring out the writer in me.
Shakey hands and black coffee.
Bruises under my eyes and crumpled receipts.
You bring out the writer in me.
When you lift me a couple inches off my feet
and I struggle to find the words because it feels like coming home.
You bring out the writer in me.

1 comment:

  1. I know that this is an ancient post, but I wanted to comment and say how much I love this. I know I saw it when you first posted it, but it didn't quite resonate with me then, and it does now. It does so much. Writing has been such a fickle, fragile thing for me lately, and I was thinking of you and decided to check your blog and this just... sums up everything I am feeling about writing beautifully.

    ReplyDelete

"Sometimes the world seems like a big hole. You spend all your life shouting down it and all you hear are echoes of some idiot yelling nonsense down a hole"
_Adam Duritz

I love hearing things that aren't my own pathetic echoes.