September 6, 2026

300 words
is my writing goal
every morning

and i usually hit it
[no, not always, but usually]
and i usually feel settled
by that time

enough words to get the morning sleepies out
enough words to find a thing i’m fine with posting
enough words to feel warmed up
emotionally/intellectually/creatively
for the day

but these past few days
300 does not feel like enough

and there isn’t anything that says
300 is a limitation
it is literally a minimum
[and even then, these are all rules i set for myself
so if i can only do about three words
that turn into a short poem day,
that’s fine for me,
that’s fine
that’s fine]

but i find it incredibly interesting
that a few weeks ago
i ran into multiple days
i couldn’t even find the time to write
anything
and now, two-ish weeks later
i’m itching
for more
and more
and more writing time

and making it happen

[am i, after five and a half years of this silly, self-imposed writing challenge
becoming something like
a “real”
writer?]

January 3, 2026

i sit here
pining and whining
and wishing and wanting
to call myself
a writer

and i know
i know
my goodness i know
that i am a writer
as soon as i write
and i sit down every morning
and compose poem
after poem
after poem

but this desire is different

i want to create whole worlds with
the tip of my finger/pen/brain
i want to carry an audience on
a whole-ass journey and lead them
from beginning
to middle
to end

what i’m saying is

i wish to write prose
story
script
screenplay
novel
novella
creative essay
anything
i could even do it in poetry
if it felt right
but all i write
are these tiny windows into my own soul
and morning
while day
and night
i have epics unfolding inside me
and the minute i dedicate
a minute
or hour
or day
to getting it down
on paper/document/screen/anything
my skill with words seems
so
elementary
so
amateurish
so
trying too hard and getting not far at all
and i give up after
a page
a paragraph
a word

but the want

it remains

December 28, 2025

i’ve always used poetry
to warm up for writing prose

but last night i wrote prose,
and this morning feel invigorated
to write poetry once more

and perhaps it is not the type of words i type
but instead simply the act of writing itself
which warms and invigorates and excites me
for future writings

[perhaps
perhaps
perhaps
i can call myself
a writer]