Alchemist

From May, 2025

I am so frustrated at not being able to write anything. It’s like my brain has turned off and I can’t find the light switch because the flashlight- poetry- is out of batteries. My poetry is out of batteries. I’m too broke to go to the store. 

I used to be so good at making things good. Especially bad things. I could twist them, turn them around, throw them miles away so all I could see was the good thing. I was a very good Alchemist. 

And now, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do about this, about you. You were so cruel, did something so horrible you turned my lights off. I don’t know how to write my way out of this one. 

I don’t know how to make this one better. I don’t know how to make it something good, something gold. 

But I’m going to try.