click your heels together
and say
“there’s no place
like home
there’s no place
like home”
but if home isn’t a place
it’s a feeling
it’s a space for you to
know your own true you
aren’t the heels simply clicking
on the road
to your friends
your clique
your crew
your coconspirators
and comrades
and found family?
is that the truth?
at least our animals exist
i don’t know how much of the outside world
i could survive
knowing about,
if i didn’t have giant puppy dog eyes
and happy puppy tails
and gentle cat purrs
and quaint cat meows
and wonderful little animal cuddles
to come home to every day
[or even stay home with
when the world is too much]
[how in the world do folks without pets
(and with depression)
survive?]
once again
feeling like i’m cosplaying
adulthood
[but also like everyone else might be, too]
this poem will
[likely]
take the place of the poem that was supposed to go
on my silly poetry blog
yesterday
and though i am not writing it
on the date it says at the top
it is still a poem i am posting here
[and i did, technically, write poetry yesterday
just not quite enough
and nothing i felt was
whole
enough
to post]
and what did i do yesterday
that prevented me from writing
all 300 of my poetry words
and taking the time to post
my silly blog post writings?
i had conversations
with my kip
the love of my life
as we enjoyed a distraction from
morning everyday routines
and the terror that is happening everywhere
while we dealt with the terror of
bodies
not cooperating
and puppies
asking to play
[that one’s not a terror though,
that one there is
absolutely delightful]
and just had a bit of a reset
with communication
and a bagel
and a fig bar
so that’s what i did yesterday…
what will happen today?
seeing other folks’ art
is always so cool
and makes me want to write too
but i feel like i either
have nothing specific to write about
or too much in my brain
ready to all come out in some sort of
cacophonous stew
[but the brilliance of this metaphor
is that stew still has discernible parts
that can be picked away from the whole,
so maybe i should just try
and maybe one vegetable
will grow
a garden of a play
someday]
i’m constantly trying to think of ways
to make my words have more impact
more gravity
more pull
but as i fill my evenings with silly improv shows
that truly make me feel like these casts are all my friends
and gives me some kind of hope
for an artistic future
in this damn country
i wonder…
have i been disregarding the power of funny
of goofy
of comedy to make us “forget” about the world
for a few seconds —
just enough to have the energy
to get back to
the fight
that needs to be fought?
can i write both heart-wrenching
powerful
fists in the air
i’m angry and motivated and i care
kind of poetry
as
well
as
the goofy kind that gives us all the energy
to fight that good fight?
to right the kinds of wrongs
that need to be overturned?
am i just a little clown
here in the world to show
that humor
and compassion
CAN
coexist?
[is that why i’m still alive?]
deciding
deciding
deciding between
connection and
mental health and
why is it that there’s no
solid line between the two
and they’re interspersed
with fascism in this land
and those who want to fight
also have to use the damn
master’s tools
as it stands
why can’t we
just burn it all
down
and start with something new built on
compassion?
can i sleep
for a week
and regain my ability
to be a person
throughout a day?
kipventures 