i decided for this post i would post something that seems to have more of an effect on me than anybody else. as a writer, i think you have to know that most if not all of your writing is going to have a different effect on the reader than it does you. how you wrote it has a lot to do with this. the heat of the moment, the aggression, it's not there for the reader. it's backstory isn't there. i think that's why some of my poems that i really enjoy don't stick with other people. the same goes for the poems that i write that i don't like and that other people do. here's an example. i wrote this a while ago, and i still love it as much as i did when i wrote it. nobody has ever really given it much praise, it's always overlooked. i'm not whining, i'm really okay with that, i like the idea of a poem being mine entirely. i noticed i dated it, but i didn't put a year. nice one.

4/26 2:32 A.M.

"quiet, violently"

from the cavity of a vacant conch shell, I can hear it. who was here with me? oceans bellowing behind nothingness, remind me of something I have yet to know. to my ear, it calls to me. to my chest—nothing. how I yearn to fill this empty space. I want to hold my head underwater and breathe in. a sullen rush cascading through breakaway compartments of hot air. surging, violently… inhaling the sea. torrents of salt lick the wound, and the walls of my lungs cry out. my chest rises and falls—I am not breathing. since you've gone, this is not breathing. it is 2:32 in the A.M. I've stepped out of my house and onto my home in the cool, dark sand. palm trees quiet and offer me to the moonlight—I don't mind. this is the third time this week that I thought I heard you calling my name.