It’s late and my body’s tired but my heart, it knows not itself till I have written. Sometimes it’s like that. It’s like writing allows me to interrogate it. You’ll know what I mean if you’re a writer. And a writer is a thinker, is she not? So if one does not write, one cannot really know what one thinks. And if one thinks, one must write. Of course there’re people who give zero fucks about poetry. They’re a specimen too. They’re meant to be something else probably. So do what is natural and necessary for yourself. Know thyself–that’s a quest. That’s your prompt, about knowing yourself, in your bones kind of way. What you’re a specimen of.