This is for all the times
that you stubbornly wrote
tired, half-drunk, drunk
at work
in-between doing other things
beyond frustrated
because you haven’t had a clear day
just for writing
in months
and it was always rush this rush that
looking at the clock for compassion
where there was none
writing on the backs of receipts
while driving
or on a napkin at the pub
because you couldn’t stop
and you end up throwing out
most of them anyways
but you still do it
because something inside of you
tells you that you have to.

Cheers,
this is what makes you a writer
and no one else
can tell you any different.