I think my anxiety has anxiety. Like somewhere inside my chest there is a smoke detector detecting smoke detectors. Every silence sounds suspicious. Every pause becomes prediction. Every unread message grows teeth in my imagination. Still figuring this one out.

Write about a conversation you rehearsed in your head but never actually had. It can be poetry, spoken word, prose, fragments, or even just a few lines. Don't edit yourself too quickly. Let the first draft breathe.

Welcome to The Draft Room. This is a working studio for poets, novelists, and short-story writers. Drafts matter more than polish here. Revision matters more than applause. Showing up matters more than talent. Post unfinished work. Stay with it. Help others do the same. Start by introducing yourself: - what you’re writing (or avoiding) - what form you’re working in - what you hope to build here Welcome to the work.