Tuesday, April 12, 2022

April 12: Poem 12

If what you are writing

does not discomfit you
casting a dull ache into your gut
and impart trepidation 
that your mom will bring it up
during Sunday dinner

then write something else.

Notes

This is the only poem I completely scrapped. I wrote and published a poem a few hours ago, went back to it, and actually hated it. I hate this one less.

One good thing about writing a poem every day: I don't feel any pressure for them all to be great. I already think I have written 1 or 2 really good poems this month, so now it's all gravy; if I come out of the year with ten really, really good poems, that is a productive year of poetry writing. How many truly great poems has your favorite poet really produced? 

I expected that pushing myself to write every day would create pressure, but it actually releases it; I know that I get another chance tomorrow to redeem myself if today is terrible. I don't think today is terrible, by the way, but it's also not going to be in my final top ten. It's better than what I had before, though :)  

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