am i
getting back to
the regular?
am i
in a state
of consistency
again?
or do i still have
a crazy crazy week
ahead of me?
am i
getting back to
the regular?
am i
in a state
of consistency
again?
or do i still have
a crazy crazy week
ahead of me?
after a few days
of none morning pages
perhaps today will be a day
of one morning pages
where did these sads come from?
why do they appear
in the midst of what should be
a happy time?
how are they somehow
related
to that happy time?
like i can’t let myself
get swept up in the moment —
i need to remind myself
in every moment
of joy
that despair
and tragedy
exists.
like if i let go
of the depression
that runs everything,
the glue that holds my whole being
together
will loosen
and split
and i’ll fall
apart;
and i just want
to be
myself
[someday]
[someday]
sometimes
you just have to write
some nonsense
before the words
start to
make some sense
in your body
(in your brain)
maybe
i just need food
maybe
i just need water
maybe
i just need a nap
maybe
i just need a break
maybe
i just need to accomplish
all the things i have
on my forever to-do lists
before i can feel
accomplished
in life
and maybe
that’s impossible,
but still i’ll
probably
try
forlorn
desolate
why can’t i be honest?
why can i never
update
realistically?
why am i so scared of being
me?
it certainly is
a rainy day
tho the rain is not pouring
the vibes
are grey
and cozy inside
when worlds
collapse in on themselves
and collide
with others
similar enough
to nearly match up
but not quite
that’s the mandela effect
that’s daily deja vu
that’s those of us wishing against all odds
that there’s something more out there
than just
nothingness.
wrap me up in
one rib-crushing hug
maybe
just maybe
my soul will re-enter my body
and i’ll be whole once more
when
will i get my
writing
back?
my churning out poem
after poem
of things
even i think
are gold?
my extended long poems
studying a single subject
until i learn
the poem wasn’t even about that
to begin with —
it was about some emotion
i’ve been feeling
but not identifying
for a while yet?
my ease
of writing poetry
every morning
without fail
without procrastination
without this trudge
through molasses
in my mind?
when?
when?
when?