Meaghan Ward, the key thing is writing is like sex. When the urge is their drop it and go and play with the muse. Don't fret about the environment (well ok no children in a public place of course), but go.

My Toxic Apocalypse poem was literally written on a smartphone while waiting for three 200 gallon tanks to fill in the hot Texas sun. But all there is shade why the hell did you not go sit under the tree or shade from your large arena? Well, the asshole horse kept pulling the damn hose out ...

So what did it do?

If you haven't been in the Texas sun at 97-100, no clouds and pure heat, oh boy do you learn how it sucks your soul dry. I mean, I get why areas of Texas are "dry" because if you are not smart to begin with and you drink beer/booze, you can die.

So the longer I wrote, the more the feel of dying inside matched my words in the poem. The ironic part is as I neared the end, my fingers were flying like a meth head on crack who just dropped acid #snicker, and then I started to tear up and cry.

No shit. Dehydrated, feeling the sun suck the life out of me, irritated as fuck because of the damn horse (even screaming at it which made it run), feeling "all" the emotions, oh and streaming "Silence" by Sarah McLaughlin DJ Tiesto edition. I heard that song again just recently and it helped me relive it.

This is the time it took to write that poem. The editing, which I suck at took about an hour and I sat at my desk in A/C barefoot on the cold floor with a tall glass of water. The editor finished of the rest of the work (thanks Gaby Rosales)

The other thing it did was in the poem it was dark sucking the life out of me, while I was typing the sun was sucking it. So it was a duality of nature, that I think Yael Wolfe or Ena Dahl could appreciate. What gives you life, can give you death, can give you salvation, can give you purpose.

I chuckled because that feeling of drinking that water was exactly how I feel about women, especially the ones I care about. Some are tagged here, some know. Just know I am thankful.