I woke up this morning after a few really vivid dreams. I had a song stuck in my head — a song that I somehow wrote while dreaming. It came to me so quickly that I almost recorded a voice memo of it, but then I quickly remembered that I have no musical talent and my singing voice sucks.

But I wasn’t going to let this fleeting moment of inspiration go to waste! I immediately started writing down the words and turned it into a poem instead. I’m no Emily Dickinson, but I was excited by how quickly it came to me.

I’ve been in a weird place for a few days, and this angsty poem has brought me out of it. I sometimes forget that creating stuff is the greatest medicine.

When you’re feeling depressed, anxious, numb, or sad, pull out whatever emotions you have buried inside you and use them. Make something beautiful out of it. Having a chip on your shoulder is a great advantage. Keep creating.

Broken Fingers

My hands are cracked
My knuckles are blistered and bruised
My wrists are limp and sore
I broke each of my fingers for you
But to you they’re just paper cuts

I breathed air into your lungs
You blew it right back out
The blood I poured into your veins
Was so easily replaceable

You said I was an angel
Who brought you over the hills
But I can remember your voice
Whispering softly
That if you stay in one place
For a little too long
It rots to nothing

Now you’re dying slowly
Your blood is thinning out
Your lungs have lost their air
You’re falling and falling
You’re crying out to me
But my fingers are already broken
It’s too late for me
To hold your hand

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