Month: August 2022

August 31, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

sleepy puppies
and writing spouses
sneaky cats
and work on houses
long-ass days
and even longer nights
when there is no internet to help
with career or comfort plights

a twenty-first century struggle bus

~~~

how is it that
when i skip one day of writing
i feel like i’ve lost
every fibre of creativity
and every ounce of self-discipline
and every last little thing i learned
over the past near year and a half?

~~~

one more poem
one more rhyme
simply to get myself
better in my mind
to see the time
and time again roll
to see myself
as i always wanted to be
and to finally see me
as i was meant to be
futuristically
and fully

August 30, 2022

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why do i yearn
for the hot hot hot climate
yet once it’s here
in my own back/front/side yard
i’m exhausted
can’t sleep
can’t wake up
walking feels like swimming
and breathing feels like dying

but i know
once it gets colder
my body rejects the climate
in other ways
(as does my brain)
so i suppose i’ll just
be a sleepy ball of sweat
for the next however many months
and enjoy not being a depressed icicle with nerve-pain
for what seems like
every
single
day
till the end of time

August 29, 2022

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my life
my poetry
slides from
quirky/cute/fun/carefree
to
the biggest angst you’ll ever see
and i know my life is actually
somewhere in the middle
somewhere in the in-between
but i never learned to see any shades
between the black and white
structured
yes or no
now or never
fact or falsehood
good or bad
so that simply makes my life
hard to quantify
at this point
wherein it has
so much positivity
but still so much pain

maybe that’s why i like spooky times so much
it’s supposed to be so scary
but it provides me with so much comfort
that i calm down the minute i hear dissonant tones
theremin whines
and boos and bones
rattling scattering my confusion
at the difference of the two kinds of life
and reminds me
that it’s ok
to live between

thank halloween.

August 27, 2022

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a memory
failing me
at every opportunity

or

is it protecting me?
is it saving me from the agony
of solid knowledge
and pain?

because

isn’t that what a trauma response is?
just the brain and/or body
trying their hardest
to save the heart
from hurt?

August 26, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

it’s hard
to just life your life
when you look at everything
through the eyes of
an external narrator

when i just want to
have the experience of
surprise
say
or even sadness and grief,
my brain fills with the descriptors:
“their eyes widen in surprise”
“tears leak down their cheek, while they ponder
a long life well lived”
or even
“the pang of depression had lessened, but the grip was still tight
on their heart,
shoving it down
towards the depths of their insides
causing a pain
they didn’t even know
was possible”

do you see?
i’m frustrated with my own experience
because i’m constantly trying to describe it
for others
for my own narrative structure
to get the external markers just so
for the script/film adaptation, too
and i find myself unable to just experience
the experience.

perhaps that’s why i’m drawn to the two extremes
of hobbies-
the one that takes up every single ounce
of mental and physical awareness,
and the one where you do the same thing
over and over and over again
till it because just a background motion,
a memory of the muscles,
a pattern rather than an activity.

and maybe someday i’ll be able to feel things
experience life
without describing it
but for now…
i circus
and i embroider
and i write to try to find my medium
my in-between,
wherever it may be.

August 24, 2022

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sometimes
creativity
just needs a
change of scenery—
a trip to the coffee shop
or to a whole new continent
but sometimes, a simple switch
from table to couch
is all that was needed

~~~

interesting—

i pride myself on variety
on variating my verbs and adjectives
and nouns
too;
repeated words and phrases
(unless used in threes or themes)
cause me such duress
that half my writing time is spent
searching
for the
perfect
word
in thesauruses
and dictionaries
online—
trying to continue the thought
but include intentional alliteration
without the clumsiness of
a word
repeated—
to me that is the mark of a novice
or just a messy writer
(maybe not when others do it,
but definitely when it shows up in my work)

but
the last few days, i’ve had
repeated words
a couple of same-phrases
sitting in close proximity
in one poem
without the third to make it a theme
and i think my soul is experimenting with
imperfection
with finding a simple/correct phrase
and sticking to it—
embracing
the words my mind came up with in the moment
and going with it

and seeing what comes of it.

~~~

i’m writing
and writing
and writing down
the thoughts as they come
the words as they crown
(is that rhyme too obvious?
that metaphor too gross?
or perhaps just too femme-y
for male-bodied bros?)
but my intention
for this one poem
is simply to keep going
keep writing
keep growing
keep feeding the fire
and the belly of desire
to write words forever
(or at least until my word count
inspires
an ending)

August 23, 2022

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if i were to write
a letter/poem/something to my younger self
would it be
simply
“you don’t need
to protect
your whole sex/gender/age group”?
“you don’t need
to stick up for
all cats
everywhere”?
“you don’t need to
put the entire world’s burdens
on your tiny shoulders”?
and is that still
what i need to tell myself
today?

August 22, 2022

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i am often obsessed
with the temporary temporality of things
having seen what i thought to be permanent
snatched from me in less than a moment
while my eyes were blinking
while i turned away…

i’ve heard a great calmness can come
from seeing where you are
in the “grand scheme” of the universe
and admitting to
the smallness of self.
but for me, it was always about control—
the bigger the universe,
the harder it would be to put my mark on it
and i’ve always admitted to expecting from myself
the impossible.

but just now
i saw my two anxieties
come together in a release:
this home we love
and fill with stuff that does spark joy
is temporary
and someday it will be gone
and our sun will explode
and this planet will become nothingness once more
so it doesn’t really matter
if we put a bunch of mismatched plants around our windows
to give ourselves some tiny fraction of dopamine,
it doesn’t matter if we have
the cleanest house or
the perfect background for tiktoks or not;
whatever brings us joy
in this moment
is all that matters
because it could be gone—
it will be gone eventually—
so this moment
is all that matters
this moment
is all that matters
whatever makes us happy
and enjoy this planet
in this moment
is all that matters

(and if we leave the planet
a little better
a little more sustainable
a little bit happier
for the generations to come,
not only will that give to others,
it will also set
our souls
at ease
far more than the stress of
being a household name
or keeping everything given
or being perfect in anything at all
would
in this moment
in future moments
in any moment.)