i don’t really know
what i’m writing this morning
i just know
i wish i had
some
dopamine/serotonin/anything
to keep me company
through this season
~~~
is my
not having
an up-to-date phone
just a reminiscence of being
four versions out of date
in my aol/internet service
and therefore
a form of
comfort?
~~~
writing poems
and hearing the rhymes
that didn’t make it in
but somehow
making the poem
fuller
is a weird sort of poet magic
i feel unfit for human consumption
like my entire being radiates harmful isotopes
like the population would probably be better off
hiding inside
rather than being exposed
to me
but why
do i identify
as a pariah?
i’ve never really been an overt outcast
even as an awkward teen, i had my people.
the worst things that have ever been said to me
have been directly from me
but maybe that’s what makes
a profoundly isolated child/teen/adult
one where even one’s own solitude
is marred by toxicity
and one can never
truly escape
the bully
i know of others
who have survived egregious bullying
by escaping into their own minds
and imaginations
what happens when the mind
is the worst minefield of all?
i miss the person i used to be
i hate the person i used to be
i ache for the life i used to lead
i’m scared of going back to that life i once lead
the flashbacks offer heart-stopping anxiety
the flashbacks offer comfort and consistency
why can’t i ever figure out
what i want
for me?
the more i read and research
the kinship worldview
the more i think i might not have been that crazy
when i spoke with that thunderstorm
when i feel like the trees are waving to me in the breeze
and it’s not like the selfish feelings i get
when i ponder an omniscient god
what would one entity do for me?
why would one entity do/
pay attention to/
contemplate
me?
but a single tree when i am the only one around?
a storm passing by and sticking around long enough for a conversation
even if they add up to one universe
i feel connection with the pieces
and maybe that’s how i
connect
with the energy
around me
(and maybe that’s how
i’ll forgive my
younger transgressions
when i was simply asking for attention
from the only beings around me—
—the planet)
write fast
low batt
oh no
your little arms are shaking
quaking in your shoeless boots
how long till the computer shuts down
could be two seconds
could be ten minutes
who knows
who knows
~~~
is my writing any good?
i ask in a poem
no one
will probably ever see
but me
~~~
the feels
are getting to me–
the random flashes of memory,
the stop-me-in-my-tracks because
a song reminds me of
a random day i had once
so so long ago
but it won’t leave my head–
why can’t i move on?
be the person i want to be?
connect with the child i used to be
without this inner teen crashing the party
every time i try to heal?
(i know,
i know,
it’s because i need to heal
the adolescent
as well)
some days
you get the poem
and some days
the poem gets you
and other days
you run away from each other
at lightning speeds
and that’s all okay
i don’t understand
how to be a person
interacting with other people.
i kind of understand
how to be a person
interacting with one other person,
and i kind of understand
how to be a me
interacting with only myself;
but multiple others???
i either am too loud
or too quiet
or too uncomfortable to do anything else—
so…what does that mean?
does that make me less of a person?
or more?
does it make me an introvert?
does it make me socially anxious?
or simply anxious all the time?
is my perception of myself based on how little others can perceive me?
or is it something else entirely?
or are these all questions
that only i can answer
for myself/
accurately
?
i write
every morning
to warm up my brain
i write
every morning
to feel a little more awake
i write
every morning
to get the creative juices flowing
i write
every morning
to feel like i’ve accomplished something
i write
every morning
because morning is when i’m at my best
i write
every morning
to continue a streak
because once i set my mind to something
i accomplish it
and i vowed to write every morning
and so i’ll write
every morning
until i feel
i’ve succeeded
(and then maybe move on
to the next hyper-fixation)
precariously balanced devises
plugged in to cords that show all the wires
on top of older machines
and books and unlit candles and things
i feel like the quintessential
adhd
disaster
but hey
it does
work
wrote
but didn’t post
how unlike me—
—how like me
(though who can say but me)
kipventures 