Prepare to Submit
It’s time to find the wall, to scrape my hope against it.
The empty coffin waits, impatient and hungry, eager to test resolve.
She, the cavernous mail box, perched on wood or stone,
or her brother, slim metal postal maw where concrete echoes of despair flow.
Nothing waits, soft and loud,
alongside dismissive notes, form letters, and complaints.
I fear them not, invite them all, beg for their appearance.
Come to me, my dear sweet rejections, my refusals, my critiques.
Verging on hate mail, sent by desperate editors, caffeinated seekers
reaching the end of a bloody slush pile.
Like pregnancy, the gift is assured, no matter
 the birth, as blood and salt water bring forth new life.
Nothing worthwhile ever came from peroxide or antiseptic.
Powerful, wrenching, primal urge brings forth
 soul-battering, faith-obliterating, hope-searing LIFE.
Not yet, they say, they bitch, they groan into their espresso foam.
Not never.
Not no.
Not personal or predictive or forever.
Yet, these notes imply, to those already on the road.
Not maybe, that hideous word!
Doubt, that weakening, wicked creature
screaming maybe into our ear,
throwing maybe into our mirrored face…
Poison to dreams, awake or asleep, written or hidden or shared,
I defy you, doubt! With every beat and breath of my life.
Never say never? That rule I break! For you, wretched doubt…
I shall never you into un-existance,
ignore you into forgotten realms, and
translate you into a language for which there is no translator.
Bring on the rejection letters, I call! Paving stones to my one day.
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