after two years of the blue screen of death / after losing 60+ fully bloomed poems & many little seedlings of other poems in the graveyard of my old computer / after rifling through several notebooks to find lost loves / after many miles of procrastination / after convincing myself all my poems are just trash heaps lightly coated with glitter / after convincing myself i should stop writing for good / after countless conversations with my partner & my best friend on the importance of writing as a vessel for survival & what it means to be both the megaphone & the voice traveling through it // i have finished the first draft of my first manuscript. i am full & good & relieved & sparkling. i am tired. i am becoming.