A Poem About the Insidious Nature of Writing

Photo by John Jennings on Unsplash

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
No matter where I am,
No matter what I’m doing,
I’m always f$*%ing  writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
Even in my head,
Even when I’m eating,
I’m always f$*%ing writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
No matter where I go,
I could be drunk af,
I’d still be f$*%ing writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
I might not have a pen,
I might not have a notebook,
I’m always f$*%ing writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
Especially when I’m sleepy,
And even when I’m sleeping,
I’m always f$*%ing writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
I finally realized,
It came as a surprise,
I’m always f$*%ing writing.

I’m always f$*%ing writing—
Probably even till the end,
I’ll being breathing my last breath,
I’ll still be f$*%ing writing.

– Aminah Jamil

Day 2 – An Unrequited Love Poem

I almost forgot to post this today. Tsk tsk tsk.

Gritty, like the feeling of crumbs in my bed,
Is what I feel when you return my smile on empty.
Empty, is what I wish I feel when your eyes don’t
Linger as long as love permits them to,
Instead of my stomach reminiscing of
Roller coasters and fast elevator drops.

My bullet train heartbeat,
Slow down,
There is no destination here.
Before we find ourselves, you and me,
My heart,
Unable to escape
The unfathomable abyss
That is this.