lost
by the wayside
trapped
by the tears i cry
[a prison made of droplets
would be very asethetic
indeed]
at least there’s the smell
of cotton candy coffee
to bring me back to
this
reality
[whether or not that’s what i need
is not to be answered right now…
…probably]
i feel like this new day of a new week
is a whole new moment of a brand new life
i don’t know what it is —
maybe it’s the lack of upcoming stressors,
maybe it’s getting used to this
twenty-twenty-four
as we have it,
maybe it’s feeling confident in friendships,
maybe it’s feeling confident in circus,
maybe it’s because
kip
is no longer feeling
vertigo-y
or migraine-y
and i feel like we might be
past
the worst of whatever this is,
but
so
this feels so new/
so fresh/
so daylight/daybreak/break me out of my rut
even with the cold
even with the chill
even with the snow and ice still there on the ground…
maybe it’s artistic inspiration
flowing all over me,
maybe it’s puppies and cats
and 8 hours of sleep
[even interrupted
i’m pretty sure it counts up to that],
maybe i just forgot
all the reasons i have
to be sad —
whatever it is
i’m feeling
almost
glad
tired
inspired
driven
distracted
saddened
and suddenly
maddened
and then
a little
glad
and
that’s just what i can describe
of my emotions
this morning
no wonder i always come back
to
exhausted
i can hold
two things at once
inside
i can be
so joyful
so filled with pride
about the decade we’ve made it
together
against [some] odds
and i can be
swirling with emotions
that the solstice
opens up within me
the world is not black and white
indeed, the shades of grey are not all there is either–
this earth is filled with vibrant color all around us
and the sooner we learn to live with and within it
instead of against it
the closer our peace
will become
[this is not to say i’m fully there
prepared to tell you how to live your life
this poem is a reminder to myself
a coaxing and holding space
for all the strange feelings
that accompany living
and a compassionate share
with anyone else
who needs it as much
as i do
today]
i’ve been unintentionally rhyming
for a little while now
and i don’t know
how
i feel about it.
~~~
more words
more feelings
more emotions
more muck
to get out of my system
and out of my brain
to stream through the eyes/fingertips
onto a screen
where words seem so foreign
when writing from the heart
but here i am
here i go
here i
start
~~~
i’ve got good stuff
lately
and again
i don’t know how
i feel about
it
had big enough feels
to feel the need
to express it
sans poetry
via prose
and who knows
how that ended up
but i might re-read
and edit
and submit it
at a later date
so folks who might not know
start to understand
how emotional labor
takes its
toll
i did it
i performed my own poetry
i read it out loud
for people
and the people
felt
emotions
is this another aspect
of poetry as the opposing side
to prose’s analytic/logic basis?
is poetry’s purpose both
to come from a place of true emotionality
but also
to affect the reader/listener
empathetically?
and how do i come at this craft
from such a brainy/overthinking origin
just to affect those i’m reading to
so profoundly in the feels?
there’s a feeling
deep
in the pit of my stomach
and i can’t figure out
if it’s
Change
or Apprehension
or Jealousy
or what
but it’s there
and the faster i try to flee from it
the harder it holds on
so
perhaps
this is simply my companion
for the next few hours/
days/
weeks/
months
and i suppose i’ll try to make it an okay home
dealing with
A Thing™
emotions crashing against my walls
like tidal waves
tsunamis
of bitterness
resentment
betrayal
confusion
trust issues at it once more
and i just want to act
to do my best with my art
and i hope i can feel my ocean
while still remaining true to myself
and my scene partner
and the scene we’ve put together
but what happens
when you always come back
to feeling
just
a little bit
abandoned?
internally
raw
worn
torn
injured
maybe bleeding
(maybe healing?)
~~~
i look at the the date
“happy manniversary!” i tell my kip
“i didn’t do anything…” they say, as their face falls
from their initial surprise-joy
“it’s ok” i say, hoping to turn the mood
from sadness
to a dark humor
that will also then
bring us down
again
to all that’s been:
“two years ago today
we were
~supposed~ to be seeing
Hadestown.”
we laugh
and sigh
and continue on inside
as the pandemic still goes on
(as much as folks pretend it isn’t
with lax guidelines
and ignoring science
and pleas from healthcare workers
falling
not on deaf ears
but on those that simply
wish not to hear)
outside.
~~~
my poetry this morning
seems to be coming from a different place
a place of allowing
the cacophony
and angst
to broil itself down
to the basics
of words
and feelings
and leaving
them all
on the page[screen]
[[[for once]]]
kipventures 