Creative cycles, they come and go. And when you find yourself on the outside of one, you can wait for the next one to come around, or you can push yourself to just make something, anything, without worrying whether it’s good or not.
I seem to be on the outside of a creative cycle now. The ideas … the inspirations … the flow … they just haven’t been as easy to access lately.
I’ve thought about taking a break, about taking a week, or maybe two to allow myself to do nothing, to not write any poems, not do any design work, not think about things I want to do someday or need to do now. But I know there is value in number, value in consistency, value in finding a way to produce even when it feels like you can’t.
And so I’ve pushed myself to somehow find something to write about each day for the past week.
And here they are. Seven more tiny poems by me, 
(1)
old enough
to be unmoved by
cat calls in the night
(2)
in the greasy alley
behind city hall
a rat scampers by
(3)
with my down jacket
I step out into
the first day of spring
(4)
it’s troubling
the smile you get when asked
why you married me
(5)
looking down
our phones between us
the distance grows
(6)
closing my eyes
I remember
today's daffodils
(7)
perched on a rooftop
their booms outstretched
a pair of cranes
As always, thank you for reading.