by mickharris

so i got an mfa, and my book is still very much far from done.

i joined a writing group and ended up coming into quite a tangle with the leader of the group before i realized he was someone important which makes me proud and cringe at the same time because i wonder if i would’ve spoken out if i knew who he was, exactly, and what he’d done with his life.  success, abounds.

he has a really nice house.  i can see the whole city, like wraparound view, at night from the windows.

and art everywhere.

i wonder why/if/when/why i want those things when i can have them, if i ever will, etc.  i wonder if i want them, if i should want them at all.

i think we should light torches for our spaces where we were safe.  even if the torch is small, even if it ends up burning down a lot of shit because you were accidentally irresponsible or let it build too high.  i think we should try.

i think we should try.

i think i should try to do more.  things?  stuff?  art?  writing?

i am weary of feeling constantly on the cusp of something and hoarding that feeling to myself like it means something, like the anticipation is enough to fuel a life past its initial tingle.