I’m just trying to place them in the right hands.
Every book on a shelf exists because one person said yes before anyone else did.
I am not looking for a miracle.
I am looking for the first believer.
I’ve done the only part I can do.
I wrote the books.
2/
I forgive myself for staying longer than I should have.
I forgive myself for believing you.
I forgive myself for hoping.
You don’t get to live rent-free in my head anymore.
The door is open.
Not for you to come back.
For me to finally leave.
End/
Some people breathe air.
I breathe narrative.
I don’t need the world to believe in every story I’ve written. I just need one person to believe in me long enough to turn the first page.
The stories are already alive.
#WritingCommunity #LiteraryAgents #AuthorsofBlueSky
1/
The hardest part wasn’t losing you.
It was realizing I never really had you.
I needed a parent, a partner, a friend, a protector.
You needed an audience.
I bent myself into shapes no human should have to fit just to earn scraps of love.
You called that loyalty.
I called it survival.
2/
#writingcommunity #PoetryPrompt
“Fill the comments with everything you wish you would’ve said to them.
No names. No nuance. Just release it all.”
@nathanbrazil.bsky.social @jackdaniels75.bsky.social @malformed-poetry.bsky.social @johnchmura.bsky.social
Alt text in replies
Now I need one gatekeeper willing to leave the gate unlocked.
I carry stories the way lungs carry air.
They arrive.
They expand.
They demand release.
And somewhere beyond the slush piles, the query letters, the form rejections, and the waiting, there is a stranger who will read my words
3/
and recognize what I have known all along:
I was meant to tell stories. And when they do, they will say the word that changes everything.
Yes.
So please, if you’re an agent reading this, take that chance. I PROMISE you will love my work and you will never meet someone like me again.
End/
You taught me how to apologize for things that were never my fault.
I spent years carrying guilt that belonged to you.
I kept waiting for the version of you that only existed in your promises.
You do not get credit for wounds that healed without your help.
1/
The day he dies and every year after that on that date is going to be a national fucking holiday
