September 25, 2021

oh no,
forgotten poem
let’s fix that.

~~~

A Peaceful Town Where
NothingEverHappens

the song,
and beat,
strikes chords in my soul,
bopping my head
along the predetermined rhythm
wait wait waiting for the weird interlude
of words,
otherwise wordless,
the songs slip
into
and out of
me

A Peaceful Town Where
NothingEverHappens

~~~

how much of my writing,
these days at least,
is actual
“good”
poetry?

how much of it is getting into the crux of the matter/
brain matter/
how much do i matter?

i want inspiration,
inspiration to squeeze perspiration,
perspiration from my brain stem
where all the cogitation
infiltrates…

but i don’t ever know
if
when i rhyme-scheme like that
is it more me
or less?
am i playing by someone else’s rules?
am i becoming ‘cringe-y’?

although, the concept of awkward
is always from the dominant culture
so why am i so worried
if i want so badly to destroy white supremacy
and stick it to the man
and burn it all down and start something new
better
kinder?

is it because i was raised within the dominant culture?
it’s been embedded in my brain to worry about things
such as
keeping the status quo
all status
all quo?
as much as i try to fight for what’s right,
i definitely get a little fearful
of rocking the boat
too much

does that say i don’t actually want to rock the boat at all?
or am i simply aware that i have a lot more internal work to do?
or is the dominant culture simply one of invisible,
undefinable,
imperceptible,
unmeasurable,
strength
that sticks its claws into every fibre of our being
until we are still working for what we so long to work against?

fuck the idea of awkwardness
of status-ing the quo
i have rainbow hair, for goodness sakes,
i crave validation of my “weirdness”
i have rarely tried to dance to anyone’s beat but my own
(i’m just often unaware what my beat actually is…
i hear so many others
and it’s wonderful
and cacophonous
and beautiful music
but i would like to pick out mine
amongst the others
at some point
soon…)

September 24, 2021

with multiple days away
(at least from the real, in the weeds, getting lost in writing,)
morning pages,
i feel like i Should be writing more,
like i Should have a plethora of backup
just waiting to burst forth
onto the page[screen]
but i’m also meandering
like [[yesterday]]
and just kinda typing
for typing’s sake

where did my morning pages go?

September 22, 2021

getting into the swing of fall
feeling more myself
sweater weather
and
spooky times
and
black cats
and
i hope i can keep this hopeful, fun, spooky feeling
all through the season

(for it really is/can be the most wonderful time of the year…)

September 21, 2021

i feel as though
the month is almost over
(though there is still plenty of plenty of time)
i feel as though
i’m running out of time
(even though
i’m still young
vibrant
virile[?]
alive)
i feel as though
i’m only half living
(even though
i’m more in tune
with being
a living person
than i have
in years)
i feel as though
i’ll never connect
with other human beings
(even though
the humans i want to connect with
align more with cryptid
than anything else)
and i feel like
i’m not allowed to identify as cryptid,
as anything other than man/woman
boy/girl
alive/dead
artist/not
driven/giving up
even though
the world
is filled
with
shades of
neither/and

~~~

maybe
some creepy/Disparition/music
will calm my spooky soul
and make me feel more like myself

~~~

my brain isn’t fully functional
fully awake
and i already feel i have
enough poems for two today
so will i write a third?
[everything in threes]
when the ultimate goal is not, necessarily, posting
the goal is to exercise my writing
each morning
every morning
every day
write at least one full poem
that i’m proud of
(or, at least, that i can look at and call a ‘full poem’)
so when i’m feeling so out of sorts
when i am uncertain where myself/body/mind/spirit
actually is
i can write and write and write and write
until
i find myself once again.
but what happens
when the more i write
the farther away i feel?
(am i just relying on the house
to fix everything?)
(that’s a lot of pressure
on one building…)
(at least i still have this cat
draped over my arms,
tail flapping without breeze,
purrs echoing in my soul,
claws digging into my skin
as a constant reminder
that she probably loves me,
or at least sees me as comfort
which is
honestly
pretty neat.)

September 18, 2021

getting things done
accomplished
organized
prepared
ready to go
is important.
but so is
chatting
stories
fun
reminiscing
venting
holding space
re-connecting
taking time.

[is this what my therapist means
when she says
‘self care’?]

September 17, 2021

road rage
comes from
feeling safe
and secure
and invincible
in your little metal box
but actually
you never know
who you’re honking at
so maybe
just maybe
just
chill.

(of course, in New York City, all bets are off,
because everyone honks at everyone
and no one really takes it as rage any more
it’s more just part of the general soundscape
of the city.
so…
)

September 16, 2021

normally, i don’t mind
the kind of worship-full relationship
we have with our animals,
our pets,
(nos animaux de compagnie),
but when it comes time
to pack and organize and box and move…
i do feel a tiny bit resentful
that half of the beings in this home,
that two of the four of us,
don’t contribute at all
(and, in fact, often make things a million times harder)