You Keep My Inkpot Wet


Sacrifice of my time

Dreams and notions by your feet

So hungry eyes may feast on this.

Pens hold hands like they never would,


Should they?

Surely the chase is better than the fall?

The chase








A sickness in the stomach,

The confusion of the world turning upside down,

Scraped knees and palms that only a kiss would make better.

Dead leaves beautiful by the loveseat.

Tumbles leave marks and writers LOVE to pick the scab

Leaving their welts open until they can pretend that they’re battle scars:

Vulnerability feeds the vultures.

And my tired eyes are drying up

– at least you keep my ink pot wet.



Megan Hopkin

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