sounds
are waves
saying hi to your eardrums
and crashing into your brain
with melody
with emotion
with purpose
there’s a reason music brings folks together just just just right
sounds
are waves
saying hi to your eardrums
and crashing into your brain
with melody
with emotion
with purpose
there’s a reason music brings folks together just just just right
ugh
stress
trying to be
professional
and feeling like
i’m failing
constantly
[everyone makes mistakes
everyone makes mistakes
everyone makes mistakes
the important part is to learn
from your
mistakes]
listening listening listening
to new music
to audiobooks
to the cars yelling at each other outside
to podcasts
to potential music
to my own thoughts
[and not wanting to run away screaming
or blare out with any other sound
my own thoughts, so that feels like growth]
but still
listening
listening
listening
observing
and collecting
and absorbing other people’s media
and maybe one day
making my own
working on old songs
that kip and i wrote
quite literally ten years ago
wow
wow
wow
woa
who woulda thought
this niche song
written for a show
that wasn’t even a musical
and was barely used in the production itself
[except as a scene-change song
and a mini-inside joke]
would have life
in an original music-making
music-sharing
infinite
audio
app
kip would create
a decade later
[the memories!]
corrections
corrections
corrections
that’s all my brain does
it leads me forward to the point of
red-pen markings on
drafts long done
i wish i could just let it all be
not see the typos in friends’ texts
or my own poetry
or anything really
when i understand the meaning
and the world is itself is a liminal space
we’re all just visiting
just trying to make it through the day
why does my mind turn into the ultimate grammar-nazi
when we all know [or knew] that the nazis
are always
the bad guys
i’d rather be a grammar anarchist
a grammar socialist
at least grammar neutralist
but no, my brain functions in rules
[though i suspect my spirit is made of chaos]
and i just want to scream at myself
“WHYYY???”
[but i think we’re probably at least mildly aware of the why—
it’s the
trauma]
oh no
oh no
my monthly [or so] feeling
that i want to write
prose
here it comes
[there it
goes?]
silly poems
almost rhyming
not quite staying inside a scheme
playing around with meter
with rhythm
with all the parts of a poem
but never in a way that feels
precise
refined
polished
my poetry exists to guide non-poets
into expression
not to be analyzed
not
at
all
the brain can’t seem to parse
what words are words
and what words are not
this dawning morning
confusing dreams keep shifting by
like memories i’d
forgotten, like
the sands of time making imagery
in a jar
if i nap
and sleep
and dream
again
will that put me right
or go further into
wrong-ness territory?
[only one way to test and tell]
i had a moment the other day
when the clarity came over me
and i knew i wanted to re-read all my poetry
and put together
a book or a zine or a something
to publish
myself or sent
and i had the energy in that moment
to do it
all
and now
now i’m so tired again…
why is my brain
so certain in one moment
of one
thing, and then in the next
absolutely
factually
sure
about
the
opposite???
making sure i write
and write and write
until all the words i’ve written
are poetry
or at least something like it
and i’ll have something to post
and something to read
in the future
when/if/when i reread everything
looking for something
that may
might
perhaps
stand the test of time