I lowered my cigarette and said,
“I get paid for this, ya know.
Writing pretty words.
Hoping people click.”
Taking a drag, I looked out the window,
With my back to my lover near the
Flickering candle wick.
“They’re supposed to make people feel,”
I said, “but I’m a failure who only bleeds weak words
From my botched fingertips.”
I take a seat on the window frame
And the curtain drapes over me.
My lover listens over his crossed legs
And coffee and lets me talk until
It’s time for bourbon.
He says, “You’re wonderful, dear.”
“But the critics say I’m not.
The poets claim I can’t rhyme,
And the readers say I can’t write.”
Ash falls on my dress,
Burning holes to my skin,
Till my Honey blows out the candlelight
And rushes to my side.
He draws the last of my cigarette,
Throws it aside,
Tells me my words are good since they’re mine.
I said, “You’re biased.”
“No, I’m in love. And your passion––
It bleeds. Not from botched fingertips.”
Between our white smoke and the moon in the window,
He still sees me,
Even without the flickering candle wick.
“Dear,” he says, lifting my chin,
“If nothing else, I will buy the book.
I will click.”
M.M. Cochran is a YA writer and author of Between the Ocean and the Stars (summer 2022). With an educational background in English and creative writing, she has worked in the journalism industry, as well as the agenting and publishing industry, and she is currently a freelance book editor for her service, Elegant Editing. Now pursuing a career in publishing and becoming a full-time novelist, she spends most of her time editing and writing in her novels. Meanwhile, you can find M.M. collecting coffee mugs or slipping into an oversized sweater, wishing for a white winter.