Your Attention, Please
Her need to read keeps me writing
She is captivated by my words
There isn’t a phrase that’s to obscure
Because she feeds on every syllable of every note
Uses my lines to live vicariously
Creating her reality through my fantasy
I’m flattered
To her, every story matters
From haikus I’ve discarded
To stories that haven’t started
She thirst for my poetry like a new born
Who knows nothing else than to scream out angrily
As if to say ‘please feed me’
And I’m forced to oblige
My fingers pour out nectar onto pages
Her yearning for me keeps me writing for days
I wonder if she knows
As much as she thinks my writing feeds her
It’s her need to read that keeps me writing
As I watch her grow from a distance
I feel my words have assisted her on her journey
From virginity to maturity
And it makes me smile
That the hundreds of thousands of words we’ve shared
Have diminished the distance between us
She inspires my stories
Pushes my pen
Makes my ink flow without end
And so I will continue to write
As long as I continue to capture her attention
🎧 From my lips to your ears…
🎤 Spit and Ink: A Live Poetry Exchange (Open Mic)
Co-hosted by The Speechless Poet & Melissa “justME” Ellis
Next event: July 7 at 8PM EST
All poets of all genres and experience are welcome.
Come for the poetry. Stay for the AfterWORDS!
AfterWORDS: Your Attention, Please
The Muse Reversal
Most poems about a muse are selfish. The writer takes the beauty, the inspiration, the feeling, and turns it into art. This one goes the other direction. Yes, she feeds on my words. But I had to be honest about what’s really happening:
“As much as she thinks my writing feeds her / It’s her need to read that keeps me writing”
That line is the whole poem. She thinks she’s the one being nourished, but she doesn’t realize she’s the one holding the pen. Her hunger is what fills the page. Without a reader that invested, the words don’t come the same way. THis poem is my acknowledgment of that. And my way of saying thank you without her knowing I said it.
The Archetype
She isn’t one specific person. She’s every reader who has shown up for all of it. Not just the polished, finished pieces, but the rough ones, the discarded ones, the ones that haven’t found their ending yet:
“From haikus I’ve discarded / to stories that haven’t started”
That level of investment is rare. Most people show up for the highlight reel. She wants the outtakes too. Writing for someone like that changes how you work. You write fuller, dig deeper, because you know someone on the other end is actually paying attention to every syllable.
Virginity to Maturity
“I feel my words have assisted her on her journey / From virginity to maturity”
This is about the path a reader takes with Poerotica. The first encounter is like virgin ears. Everything is new, a little surprising, carefully received. But over time they grow into it. The edges stop shocking them. They start craving more, wanting deeper, pushing further into the work. They go from experiencing it to needing it.
That transformation is one of the most gratifying things about building this community. Watching someone evolve alongside the writing.
The Nectar Image
“My fingers pour out nectar onto pages”
I could have written ink. I could have written words. But nectar is something else. It’s sweet, it’s drawn from somewhere living, and it exists specifically to be consumed. Nectar implies that what I’m producing has a taste to it, a richness. And that the reader isn’t just reading. She’s feeding. The newborn image right before it earns that word:
“She thirst for my poetry like a newborn / Who knows nothing else than to scream out angrily / As if to say ‘please, feed me’”
That’s not casual readership. That’s hunger. And nectar is the only thing that satisfies it.
Why This Belongs in Poerotica
This one sits differently in the catalog. There’s no explicit content here, no bodies tangled together, no heat rising of the page. And yet it might be one of the most intimate things I’ve written. Because it’s about being someone’s creative obsession. About the quiet, consuming way a reader can claim you without ever touching you.
Desire doesn’t always live in the body. Sometimes it lives in the way someone needs you words. Sometimes the most erotic thing in the world is knowing someone would read your discarded drafts. That belongs here because Poerotica has always been about honesty, and this is an honest poem about what it means to be witnessed.
Your Thoughts
Have you ever been so drawn into a writer’s work that you’d consume everything they’ve ever written? Finished or not? Or on the other side, have you ever had a reader whose attention made you write better, dig deeper, keep going?
Drop a comment. Let’s talk about the relationship between the ones who create and the ones who can’t stop reading.
If you enjoyed this, you might also like:
Why Are You So Good At This - When someone’s words have a physical effect on you
Inspiration - She inspires life, laughter, happiness, desire … poetry
Spit That Sweet Shit - A love letter to poets and the community they build
🙌🙌❤️❤️😍
you certainly have my attention
words matter