sometimes
i need to remind myself
that i needn’t set out to change minds
when i write from my own soul
no certain goal in my mind
that’s when others’ are impacted
and yes, sometimes, changed
[but what if the mind i need to change
is my own?]
sometimes
i need to remind myself
that i needn’t set out to change minds
when i write from my own soul
no certain goal in my mind
that’s when others’ are impacted
and yes, sometimes, changed
[but what if the mind i need to change
is my own?]
how
and why
and when
and why do i just want
another cup of coffee
to just chill with
i’ve hit a roadblock
in my own lungs
and i can only theorize
about stress and anxiety showing itself in my body
before it gets to my conscious mind —
that’s the reason i can only take full breaths
in very specific instances
and never using the full capacity
of what my lungs should be
and i’m getting enough oxygen
[probably]
it’s just a little more than a little unsettling
to know i have more space for air
and to simply
not
be able to get it
coffee
and cold brew
are like old friends i come back to
every single morning
and though ‘old companions’ are more likely to be ones
whom you don’t see for months or years at a time
it really does feel like a hug that has been waiting
for at least 365 days
when i take that first sip in the morning
walking the puppy
up and down the sidewalk
that same sidewalk we do every morning
and she always smells different things
keeps up with different dogs in the neighborhood
[“reads the newspaper” if you will]
and i stand by, astounded
that something as beautiful smelling as honeysuckle
can be growing
and scenting
this new york city
neighborhood
[even if they are invasive…]
observing humanity
in an emergency
department
[but i should probably be
eating some sort of snack
to make my own humanity
a little bit
even-er]
it’s always so strange
writing in the nighttime
everyone around me already asleep
it feels like a secret
i may get to keep
unlike the morning writing times
where it flows from me
and into the ether/the void/the endless space that is the internet
those secrets i always
let
go
[and i think they may still be going]
i have so many ideas
and concepts
and words
and stanzas
running through my head at all times
i am damn near constantly in a state
of needing to get something
out
of my system
but i don’t write when i need to
i save it all up for the morningtimes
and in the morningtimes
when i’m ready to write
i come up with almost
nothing
i’m writing
poetry
as warm-up
for maybe something new
something old
something played
something playing
something tragic
something nostalgic
something
i’m going towards
now
here we are
working[auditioning]actor
less time for
writing
more time for
figuring out
[im]perfectionism