Night Mines

Why is it that I always find the night to be the greatest time for inspiration? That as soon as the clock hits midnight, my fingers ache to press the keys? 24 hours in the day, 16 waking hours, and my mind chooses the ones reserved for sleep...

My fingers control my mind

Their aches and cravings dig in

Searching for something to write

The typing urge relieves a pain

But creates a hole in my brain

Like if there's not something to write about

My nerves will fidget and spark

Restless and dark

Waiting for the next big thing

Waiting to type, to write, to edit

To scratch, to create, lightheaded

Digging with bare fingers in the corners of my mind

Foraging and collecting any scrape of something

Keeping it going, keep going, grind

Brainstorming, whirlwinds

Embracing the rain, taking the pain

Without it, no gain, right?

If I keep pushing

If I keep forcing forwards

I'm bound to find something

But what if there's nothing

In my mind's mine?

Am I left to define

myself by the lack

of gold in the corners

of my brain?

If I do

will it help me at all

as a writer

or just fuel my shame?

Something quick and spontaneous. Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all of you!

If you liked this poem, please check out some of my other work! It would mean a lot to me!

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