quiet the mind
just enough to hear the important thoughts/
the creative thoughts/
the thoughts that are often drowned out
by anxiety rambling
and existential depression blues
there may be creative moments
inside those diatribes
but i’ve heard enough of them to know —
it’s getting past them
that the true me
lies
[in truth]
creation mixes magic
with science
and i think you’ll find
we’re all adept
at both
[if we just believe]
creativity
is
as creativity
does
and creativity
does
frustrate me
so it is
frustrating
[i think]
this morning
the pages don’t flow
they flitter
glitter shimmering past my peripheral
if i follow the train of thought
i want
i’ll be leaving this subject matter behind
but what is it i’m trying to find?
am i aiming for polish
for pristine
for perfection
or could it be
the messy/testing/trying out
glitter flittering in and out
dopamine hitting my starved system
will fill it far more than
niceness served for nicety’s sake
who am i kidding?
i am a perfectionist and a completionist
i can aim for both at once
it doesn’t matter that that would require
a physically impossible arrow
more time in the day than is there now
legitimately anything different than what i bear
but now
i can admit my silly ways
my impossible aims
and even if i still want what i literally cannot have
at least i know it
and that’s progress
right?
i keep having ideas
good ideas
great fucking ideas
for poems
and essays
and thought pieces
when i’m on the train
when i’m out walking post-rain
when i don’t have my computer with me
and my words come faster than a notebook would suit me
so i just leave it dormant
in my head
hoping against hope
that it’ll all be there again
when i have my things/solitude/words/supplies
but it’s all lies
i know the words are there
and the concept needs to be shared
i’m just
plain
scared.
nothing new to say
it’s all been done before
but maybe not by
exactly
me
man
these morning poems aren’t doing shit for me
and i’ve felt adrift since 2022 day three
and i thought i’d found where my serotonin was lost
but it turns out it was just capitalism in a silly mustache
and i tried for a while to follow the dopamine
but i guess that dopamine i followed wasn’t meant for me
so i suppose i could just succumb to the unconscious dreams of sleep
but naps give me less time to accomplish the day
but is it even day if the sky is so grey
and the haze of the rain pounds the panes in sheets
and this playlist slaps but sometimes too much too deep
and i’ve probably lost the rhyme scheme somewhere in this mush of words
but i push and i pull and i try to open new doors
but they scare me so much
i’m paralyzed
to the floor
so i guess i’ll write
and write some more
until i can pull up my feet
and walk outside
once
more.
see
me
doing the work
writing the things
pushing
daily
meet
me
in between
the day and the night
the push and the pull
the enjoying the work
and the pushing through for completionist’s sake
and do it all
in a mf-ing
pandemic
~~~
don’t know where that came from
except my brain
so i guess it’s not all sunflowers and random peaks of
existential dread
up in here…
~~~
the thing is, i’m not pushing
that hard,
like,
i do like
writing
i enjoy it
and [especially] when i get into flow
it’s the most fulfilled and productive i feel
but the last few days/weeks have felt
‘off’
and i can’t quite figure out why,
but i just keep going
and if i don’t write anything that i deem
‘good enough’ for posting
i simply go back to other days
where writing felt smoother
and more ‘of me’
(or something)
and i post that
(which i’ve done before
but maybe not so many days in a row?)
(and even the written — posted days
feel
not great)
did the second poetry-writing challenge break me?
or is this simply the effects of wintertime
(and every year i’m surprised)
what would make this morning
a real one
one where i achieve a
peaceful/excitable
writing
poetry
flow?
i feel like i’m a the tail end of my creative flow
and i know
that’s not how it goes
it’s a well that never runs dry
but sometimes
the rain droughts or floods
and circumstances can dictate
more states
that i’d like
but, like,
why can’t i at least have some sort of
steady flow,
trickle,
a tickle
in my brain
would be better
than this blankness
that fills my mind
like a void
negating every possible
creative
thought
and turning it
to
stone
cold
static
over
and over
and over
again…
kipventures 