writer

January 3, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

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

/ HJ / Leave a comment

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]

November 1, 2025

/ HJ / Leave a comment

they say to be a good actor
you have to live some life first

is the same true about writers?

they say “write what you know”
and if you know shelter and
safety and never worrying
and never feeling anything
won’t your writing be…
kinda beige?

but as a writer,
as an actor,
as a poet,
we feel things with the intensity of a human being
thrust into the sun a thousand times over;
we take our [possibly mundane] lives
and crank our imagination up to eleven;
we seek experiences to suck life from
and try to make art from the remnants…

is simply living life too much for an artist,
or is it exactly what the artist needs?

[or am i over-thinking everything]

[and isn’t that what creatives do, too?]

August 24, 2025

/ HJ / Leave a comment

write what you know
and then write it a little farther away
using metaphor
or simile
or narrative tactics
that make it seem
like it may not be about your life
at least not completely
but we all know
we all know
every writer carries hundreds
if not thousands
if not millions or billions or trillions of
selves
with them at all times

[or is that just every human
as we live and grow and change and morph
into each of our
many
many
many
final forms]

August 15, 2025

/ HJ / Leave a comment

do i have writer’s block
or does writer’s block have me
in a chokehold
from which i’ll never be released

do i have writer’s block
or is writer’s block my best frenemy
stalking me
fighting
and making up
and i keep them around for…
…for what?

do i have writer’s block
or is my whole life a lie
based on wanting to write
but never knowing how or when or why
or even if i really should
so i just
rush back
into writer’s block’s arms

do i have writer’s block
or are these excuses
to keep me from writing out
my whole soul?

April 28, 2025

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i don’t actually know what it means
to be
a great writer
a great poet

i’m just sitting here
at my messy dinner table
early in the morning
writing whatever comes to mind
as a way to encourage myself
to deal with the day
that is coming towards me
at breakneck speed

maybe,
when you’re in your ‘fighting a [seemingly] losing war
against fascism with the best tool you have —
kindness’ era
you’ll understand

~~~

i feel like this kind of morning
and this kind of writing
is the reason i started this challenge to begin with

i feel more awake
more aware
more ready to start my day

though i still need to edit and pick and send in the audition
i feel so much more prepared for it
now

~~~

“you look like such a writer!”
of my big sweater
comfy tee
glasses
bun
and coffee in hand

and i do, don’t i?
i do…

March 21, 2025

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i just want to run around in a field
or forest
without having to worry
about taxes
or dinners
or interpersonal relationships
except for those i create in my mind

where is my idyllic adulthood?

December 4, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

how
can i constantly feel
like a novice
in all i do?

i’ve performed all my life,
but i still feel second/
third/
fourth/fifth/sixth/
end of the line
when it comes to opportunities
for the stage/screen arts.

i’ve had six plus years in the air,
but i’m a perpetual student
here.

i’ve written
every
single
morning
poetry
for over a year and a half,
but i’m still too scared to submit,
to hear the possibility
that i’ll forever be
amateur;
living only for the love of words,
never ‘going anywhere’ with it.

and what’s so bad about that?

capitalism/colonialism/white supremacy
forces our minds to find some meaning
out of what we can produce/expert the field
in a way that makes money—
churn out content/
content/
you need to create more content…

where is the place for creating for the sake of creativity?

and why can’t i find my own balance?

i think
it’s because
i just want to feel
like i know
something.
i want to feel adept/
professional/
expert/
master/
ace/
like i don’t have to second guess every choice i make—

that’s what i want out of my crafts.