August 7, 2025

contemplating civil unrest
and violence
and propaganda
and slippery slopes
and all the things that my mind is stuck on
daily
alongside the silly things
i have anxiety about
as well

if only my brain could give an indication of
what it actually is anxious about
because, if it’s the very real dangers
that are closer than people would like to admit
[though i will be fair here and give credence to the
systems in place to stop a war from happening, but
the state-sponsored violence is scary enough
already]
then maybe i have a mind that is
realistic
and preparing me
for potential trauma,
but
if it’s just freaked out about the menial
mundane
teeny tiny things
[and i’d actually do ok
in even more “unprecedented times”]
then maybe a medical intervention
to my anxiety is what is needed
at this time

but no, my distress
and obsession
bounce back and forth between
what are very real, but probably far away, fears
and overreacting to daily issues
most folks seem to deal with
mindlessly

i don’t want to lose my ability to be prepared for any eventuality

but, damn, this preparedness is killing me…

June 11, 2023

i don’t know if i was born
with the patience gene fully turned on
or not,
but it has developed into something
i value greatly
in myself

however
because i don’t think of it as
a core marker/
a makeup of hj/
something that’s been with me
since that first day,
i often approach it as a skill —
something that needs practice/
cultivation/
that i can’t just rely upon —
and it often surprises me
when others thank me for my patience
when i’ve been feeling
so
at the end of my rope

i wish i could conceive of a me
who was always always always
patient without strain

January 3, 2023

i found an old USB drive,
the one my first college gave us,
and i know that there used to be poetry
on it–
the first poems i wrote
that weren’t
primary school assignments
or
teenage angst arrangements

but i haven’t opened it up and plugged it in yet

there are a few logical [and illogical] reasons for that:

first and foremost
none of my laptops have a USB port
any longer
(this is easily rectified
by the external bricks
that connect
most cords
with our computers–
i’m not 100% sure there’s a USB connection
on that thing
but i’m assuming
it is
more than likely)

the second is that
i don’t think i’d find
any surprises
there–
i saved all my college essays elsewhere
as well,
and if i were to go digging
i’d probably find
exactly the poems i had in mind–
so what’s the use
of trying to get my laptop to read
a fifteen year old piece of technology
to not unearth any fun finds

but surprises inside
are my third
hesitation
reason–
what if i
actually put on it
something i don’t necessarily want to see
now;
what if
i hid some angsty gems–
do i want that in my head
now?
and the worst surprise
i think i could find
is if there is actually nothing inside.

but look at me
not checking the brick
for a USB port,
not grabbing the drive
from the basement where it was nearly stepped upon,
not finding a way
to find out
what’s on it,
but instead writing a whole
silly
poem
about how i don’t want to know–
[but i still do want to
and that
is the
problem]

December 27, 2022

i know the morning
is here for me
to delve into my
psychology
and think through things
as they may or may not be

but right now it feels
more like a chore
more like a bore
score none and no more
the act of writing
of poetizing
less than appetizing
and i can’t help but feel
like a
fraud

~~~

one more poem
one more verse
simply to make me feel
like i didn’t just waste
an entire block of my morn
writing stupid rhyming poetry
for nothing
for naught
for no one but me

(that’s the only person
actually
for whom this
poetry)

~~~

and writing
as me
as my own self
is so odd
because i’ve spent so much of my life
not knowing
(or straight up hiding)
who i truly was
that i’m uncertain
i’d even know
for sure
now

February 3, 2022

still don’t know what the groundhog said
guess i could look it up
(even tho it has very little to do with anything real,
but we all need a distraction these days, right?)

six more weeks of winter
(as opposed to ‘early spring’)
but six more weeks isn’t terrible;
the full month of February
(which is annoying, but expected)
and then half of March
(March, which lost its status as
‘normal month’ way back in 2020;
i don’t think i’ll ever look at another
March
the same way again)

but i think,
i *think*
i can do it.

~~~

most mornings
the sunlight blazes through
our east-facing windows,
catching in our eyes
as we sit to write
morning pages and morning poems
and things of that nature
and the shine is so great
that half my computer screen
fades to white
and generally
we put up with it
for the warmth
(and for the plants)

but this morning
the sun is barely making itself known
through these dense clouds
bringing with them rain
and drear
and we miss that sun
not just the warmth
but also the light
the indication of daytime
the blasting through our senses
waking us up
in a way
that only coffee comes close
to imitating

~~~

i keep wanting/desiring/being drawn to the
writing
of tough stuff
in the evening
but in the morning
when i have more wherewithal
to contemplate
the complicated
my aversion to tackling
the ‘tough stuff’
grows
exponentially

(but maybe one of these mornings)

(or maybe one of these days i’ll just have to
write
in the eveningtime)

August 17, 2021

if i’m
contemplative
too much
i get
existential
and that often leads to
a
crisis
but without
contemplation
i’m left with
mundanity
which therein leads to
boredom
which in turn becomes
agitation
which stems from
anxiety
and
depression
which, while indulging in those
can become
too much
contemplation

[or at least i think those are the appropriate words for all that emotional muck i feel]