spooky Halloween day,
grey clouds blotting out the rising sun/
the apprehension as evening approaches
our last-minute costumes not quite done/
and the excitement to see children enjoying everything scary,
and friends visiting to help with vibes and such
i suppose this Halloween can still be awesome
[i’ve had doubts ever since last year’s COVID Halloween —
lonely, sickly, and distanced —
but it can be good again/
it can be good again]
everything hurts
everything hurts my heart
everything hurts
my heart
my
heart
approaching the end of this poem part of my day
and finding out
i still have so much to say
and i’ve not yet said it
even in 325 plus words
…nerds
[as an exclamation]
my eyes droop
heavy-lidded
with sleep not-yet forgotten
dreams hold me in their vice-grips
and i can’t escape
even what i can’t remember
i once asked someone what some part of my personality
meant in terms of the rest of me
and they stated, very plainly, that i don’t live in reality
(at least not when i can help it)
and i completely
agree
coffee-filled condensation
drips from the tentacle
of my one-of-a-kind
hand-made
oversized
coffee
mug
and i try to rescue it
bringing as much of the drop as i can
from side
to finger
to mouth
but there’s still condensation
from cold fridge
to warm house
dichotomies
exchanging
vibes
and i’m glad i don’t have to worry about coasters for this table
much
vibing with the music
hoping to have something to speak of
something of which to write
to spite
the depression coming quite
quite
quite
quickly
i wish i had a head for organizing
in an empty space—
to see what could come of nothing/
to observe the puzzle pieces as they fit
perfectly
together
where once there was void
i am of the kind of mind
that gets overwhelmed with too much choice
the minute you give me parameters
the minute you give me shelves and labels
the minute you give me a bag with sections
or a dishwasher with the levels and dividers
i’m great at fitting in
more than what the average person might fit
but i feel like such a fool/square/failure
to not be able to go from nothing
to something
i always need something
to jump off from
[this poem is not just about organization]
let yourself be cringe
let yourself make you cringe
it’s not just about not giving a shit
what others think
it’s also not giving a shit
about what you yourself
think about yourself
no one’s opinion matters
not even your own
just be
and be
free
the supreme satisfaction
when we hear from the front yard
laughter and admiration
at our Skeleton Self-Scare Party
[Halloween decorating:
we may be a little
later than we wanted
but at least we got it
and we got it
good]
puppies filling up a weekend
eating up all our time and attention
with worry
and laughter
and entertainment
and play
and clean-up
and comfort
and analysis
and all that puppy jazz
kipventures 