Untitled Ninety-eight

Didn’t mean to– and no this isn’t a sorry. I wasn’t trying to come off like

that, rude. I–It’s just, connecting is really hard, especially when you feel

alone. I didn’t stop trying though, maybe not hard enough. See, I use to think I

was afraid of connecting to people, now I’m just scared of them leaving. Why

wasn’t the connection strong enough to stay?

— Day Sibley

This the Common Air That Bathes Us

That’s what she said.

That’s what he said.

That’s what she, he, you, me, we said.

Said it to each other

Said it across long distance phone calls

and short distance pillow talks.

Said it to the mirror,

probably not often enough.

Said it to dogs in high-pitched voices,

and, in face licks and tail wags,

definitely had it returned

in ways other than words.

Said it on accident.

Said it too soon.

Said it too late.

Said it amidst arguments

that were never worth having.

Said it during love making

which was definitely worth having.

Said it to unborn children

Said it quietly over the graves of those now gone.

Said it to our parents

Said it to our parents exponentially more frequently

when we were low on cash.

Said it to the sky.

Said it to the stars.

Said it late at night

to new friends in old bars.

Said it in too many languages to count.

Said it soft,

then said it loud,

then said it louder,

and when it still wasn’t said loud enough

we created a Facebook event page

and invited everyone

so that we could all set our clocks just right

and simultaneously say it at the same time,

and after we did,

the earth grew a little quieter,

see, somehow we all collectively decided,

that anything that was ever worth saying,

had already been said.

I love you.


 

When You Get the Rejection Letter

Rejections, after Lauren Elma Frament

 

In a year of taking a break from submitting, I almost forgot how tedious sending your work to publications can be. You put blood, sweat and tears in revising your work to death before sending it out, and boom! You get the big “no”.

Sending my pieces to lit. journals had come in small blessings, usually unexpected. There were times my pieces fitted the theme of the journal and I got the boot. There were times I would cry and question if I should write at all, some I didn’t care.

Which is to say, you shouldn’t question whether you’re a good writer or not, there’s plenty of journals worldwide. It’s one of the scenarios where you have to push yourself. It’s not going to be easy–it’s really frustrating to be honest, but it’s part of the journey being a writer.

 

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A Woman’s Worth

The greatest sin the world forbids a woman to do, is love herself.

See, she is the wife before she is an  individual. The mother  who

cares for herself last. Someone’s sister or aunt. She never belongs

to herself. God forbid she does.

— Day Sibley, A Woman’s Worth