There is a part of me that only exists in poetry. It’s the part of me that I resurrected from a deep and bottomless ocean. One minute I think I’m done for. It’s gonna swallow me whole this time, I swear.

Then a stanza. A few words, another. Words spilling out of my gut and onto paper. Like a bad case of the flu. I word vomit until I am dehydrated. No more viruses or words in my system. Until I am exhausted and I want to sleep again.

Poetry has taught me to be human. And it has saved me. From sinking. Into myself.