Of course it’s the LAST day of 28/28 and I have literally nothing.
What a fucking month. The shambles of my personal life aside, this exercise helped me in ways I never thought it would as a writer. It forced me to break free from my normal pattern of writing, which is usually as follows:
1) Come up with idea for poem.
2) Write 3 lines.
3) Obsess over said 3 lines for at least a month and a half, feverishly reworking and rewriting them until I hate them and start all over again.
And then I wrote TWENTY SEVEN things in TWENTY SEVEN days, you guys.
That’s a fucking accomplishment.
So hello, March. Even though we all wish you were June.