To start, some words from Anais Nin:
If I love you, it must be because we have shared at some time the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage. I agree. I feel this way for pretty much everyone I currently love, and when I am grasping, am reminded of this too as reason that I struggle to connect with others.
I want to feel loved for myself, for my inner self, for my timidities, my sorrows, my struggles, my defects, my frailness. And here too I agree, and I think most people in general would likely agree, and then what strangeness that so many of us should hide all of this, then.

A word from Dany Laferriere:
Some of my books wrote themselves. Or they were written in around a month’s time, in a month-long uninterrupted state of orgasm. Writing is not suffering. It’s living faster, or with a greater intensity. This is actually one of the more satisfying responses I’ve found on writing. I would agree on the intensity, living faster but not so much suffering front. I am wont to reenter this state once I exit it on a poem too, which I think has been making seriously revising my poems a bit difficult. But a good contrast to Murakami in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, who compares writing a novel to a marathon and blech. Sentiment expressed in one of my own poems here: “I write to save my soul”.

Shall we have a poem or two, now?

“September”, Alex Dmitrov
It’s a shame that many of these poems are not online, he has one for each month and I always think it’s a nice way to start the month out and some poetry account is always sure to post it. Anyways, these are usually good vibe poems.