Writing Alone
Writing when I’m alone.
A tired writing.
Terrible, sleepy writing.
So nothing goes right.
Writing is absolute.
Stains everywhere.
The stain of words.
Trembling.
Writing is gracious.
Kind and hefty.
Turns back toward me.
Like a detached face.
Writing is combing through piles.
Wailing and eyebrow raising.
Swallowing my pencil.
Horrible just like that.
I left my pen and notebook at home.
No one can bring it to me.
So I’m grappling with a magazine.
Inspiration is gracious.
Writing alone.
With the pen on my nightstand.
Copyright © Angelica Tao | Year Posted 2025
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