I talk to myself in poems

conversing in verse to no one but me

pre-first drafts warming swirling

like rendering fat

more often than not it’s not any good

which is just as well

more often than not it's not any good which is just as well

since talking to oneself

is not terribly encouraged on the whole

but it’s fun arranging silly little flowery words

shifting them this way and that

singing it different to the god in my head until she is pleased

and every so often

I’ll turn a phrase so incandescent

that I make myself blush

I know why they write down the good prayers

EmJo Chaney (she/they) is some white bitch - middle age middle class middle child from the middle west - she has been writing poetry for an amount of time - she's on various social mediums but please leave her be - support her by trusting your instincts and doing the dishes.

Subscribe to Missing Witches Rx.

Inbox magic, no spam. A free, weekly(ish) prescription of spells and other good shit to light you up and get you through. Unsubscribe any time.

Oops! There was an error sending the email, please try again.

Awesome! Now check your inbox and click the link to confirm your subscription.