Charles Bukowski (Part 2?)

You told me not to write
unless the desire to
was burning so deep inside me
nothing else would matter
and if I had to stare at the screen,
or force myself to write,
or reread a poem to a loved one,
or try to write like someone else,
then,
just forget it…
or do something else
or
(wait patiently)
and while I personally feel like
I don’t fall into any of those categories
here I am
kind of
well,
forcing myself
to write this,
and having looked you up to
get some sort of
inspiration
to put fingers to keys
(instead of pen to paper)
I find myself writing anyway
because there’s still this burning in me
that if I don’t just
write
for whatever reason
for any reason
that light will go out
or at least
dim
down to
nothing of enough
and I don’t want
to take that chance–
I guess it’s fear
that keeps me motivated
sometimes
mostly
guised as
love
and for me
for now
that’s
just enough
for
me
that’s
quite.
allright.

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