how
come
how come
how come i don’t reach out
until the last minute?
[i mean, i know why — it’s because i’m so scared of putting forth the full effort
just to be ignored or forgotten, as i have in the past, but this way if i can’t be seen
it’s all circumstantial and that doesn’t mean people love me any less…]
[sometimes i wish i knew less about myself]
i honestly
don’t understand
me
i’m ecstatic
i’m scared
i’m electrified
i’m anxious
i’m invigorated
i’m apprehensive
i’m defensive
i’m meditative
i’m happy?
[maybe?]
i’m existential
i’m whatever
i’m apoplectic
i’m in shock
i’m winding down
i’m revving up
i’m lost
i’m found
i’m starting now
i’ve gone through so much
i want
i want
i need
i yearn
i spin yarn after yarn after yarn
but i never seem to learn
that it’s all part of the human condition —
there isn’t one affliction or emotion
better or worse than the others
when you look at one whole life lived
[and you’re not even near the end
as far as makes sense — why are you always
wrapping up your life in your head
to make the ending
an end
rather than a beginning
of a new era]
[you do you,
but also,
there’s more left of you
than you seem to act like
you
have
left]
poem to-do lists
and poem “i love” lists
and very few true poems this morning
but i suppose that’s what these morning pages are for —
just get out of your brain what’s been clogging it lately, and do it
in poetry’s form;
for that is what you love
and what connects you most to the you that you are
and to the you that you’d like to be, even if you don’t know who
that you truly is
yet
i wish i had written more as a child
about what it felt like to be
those ages that i was–
it all felt so solid
inevitable
unchangeable
at the time
but now it slips my mind
i try to hold the grains of sand
as tightly as i can
and i have no specificity
just generic hazy memory
like things
vibes
of times
but i want the solid
the thought processes
the emotions (good and bad and in-between)
i want to remember
me
but instead i get this vague reaching
for who i used to be
and who i might
have grown
into
but none of this feels as solid
as writing does
now
so maybe that’s why i write
every day
even if it feels silly
or poorly crafted
or i don’t know what i’ll ever do with it
i need to find a way to look back
and identify myself
from years away
because sometimes i can’t even identify myself today
i know
i know
i know
that taking days off
of anything
is good for me
i know
i know
i know
that nothing is truly lost when i skip
anything
for one singular day
but there are still
voices
in my head
trying to convince me
that momentum is everything,
and skipping ‘just one day’
leads to skipping two
and then just one week
and just one month
and then a year will have gone by
and two
and ten
and suddenly
i haven’t done it
again
since that first day
skipped…
and let me tell you,
my darling reader,
that’s a load of bullcrap.
those voices in my head
(unlike most of what i need to fight against
in my own mind)
are not my own;
they are the voices of
[well-meaning]
family members
who got concerned
when i took a year
of a break
between one college
and the next.
but they didn’t see the next,
they only saw
the gap,
the ‘giving up.’
and i wonder to this day
if it was those voices in my head
that convinced me
that fishing college—
any college—
was the best choice for me,
even when i might have been better served
at an academy
or going out on my own
and figuring some things about myself
out
before [even considering] trying to push myself
into an academic environment
where knowing oneself
would have given me
so much more
resilience
to get out of the program
what i wanted to get out of it
in the first place…
was momentum the right driving force
to lead me?
did i need to follow
everyone else’s instructions?
or would i have been better served
following my gut
(like i did for that gap year)
and forging my own path
like other [more trusting voices] said
i would?
i ended up forging my own path
eventually,
but let this be a lesson
to those who would worship at the altar
of life paths
and momentum
to maybe hold off on those words
with someone unique
and trail-blazing.
and let it be a lesson
to those of us
constantly making what wasn’t expected of us
work in our favor
(even when we don’t realize it)
that we already have enough voices in our heads to fight against;
outside voices
we can just
ignore.
to be
on the cusp
of knowing who you are
but still fearing the unknowns
of changes
to your
body
mind
and soul
how dare this internalized
trans-phobia,
the lies and terrorizing from the cis-stem,
affect me this deeply
(and in my Pride month, no less!)
~~~
the puppy’s tail pulsates,
swinging wildly back and forth,
as she barely contains her glee
in a well-trained sit;
‘wait’
the cat stares,
meows,
then damn near head-butts the dog
with love,
but still hisses
(instinctually?)
someday
they will
be friends.
~~~
it’s mornings like this
when my mind feels blank
that i wonder if it’s actually good for me
to write
and write
and write and write and write
until i find something to say,
or if it would better serve me
to let the morning go
‘to waste’
and write later in the day
when things have inspired my mind
to think things through
and the creative process
is finally flowing…
what
do you
think?
what’s it like
to know what you want
day to day?
week to week?
year to year?
life to life?
[i wonder
and ponder
my own life through)
or
what’s it like
to see so few choices
that the choice seems
obvious
to you?
decision paralysis
is a subject
i’ve written abut before
(and thought/think about
damn near daily)
and yet
the subject
never seems
‘done’
to me.
(but maybe
it’s a combination
of regular decision paralysis
and the big choices i’m stuck on
that bleed into the littler ones:
my indecision
about my own career
(minus the big reasons i’ve chosen acting,
which is also a way to feed the paralysis;
acting has in it
the opportunity
to be
every career
with
every character),
but within that big choice
i get stuck on
what i want to wear
day to day
or what music
i’d like
to listen to…
but/because there are other things
i know
i like
and want:
i love all animals,
and rainbow is my favorite color,
and kindness i hold above all,
and coffee is the best drink (besides water),
i’m always in the mood for
bagels, indian food, or ice cream,
and i know i need balance in my day-to-day choices:
too much of socialization
will lead to needing a lot of alone time to re-charge,
and similarly,
too much solitary time on my own
and i begin to fall apart)
so, what is the conclusion,
or even the thesis,
of this poem?
is it simply that i can continue to be freaked out
by decisions
and the paralyses they induce,
but i should also admit
the duality
of the human spirit
and that i know what i want
far more than my paralysis shows?
or is it simply
to make a strong choice
and stick with it
(the lessons learned in improv class
so long ago)?
went to sleep in a Mood™
woke up in a Whole Other Mood™
and i’m realizing how reliant i am on
the negative talk and self-sabotage and executive dysfunction
to truly be the blame for when things go wrong,
so when i am happy, when i do actually put forth the effort
to try to do things right,
and if circumstances just happen to breed the same outcome…
the low-key self-hatred,
the kind i can ignore away
because it’s always there
becomes loud
becomes bites with teeth
and those teeth are the “proof” from the external factors
which i know, logically, are circumstantial,
or i could have done something to change, but i literally didn’t know at the time
but damn if that bite isn’t sharp and deep
deep
deep down to my soul
till i start to believe the fanged monster
when they say
truly
no one loves you
and you are to blame
[look at all this proof]
~~~
and now we have the decision-making,
the ‘do i put this up on my site or not’-ing.
i’m truly fine;
i’m an adult, so i don’t have those crazy teen-hormones running around my brain and bloodstream
begging me to do something rash,
something stupid,
something irreversible.
and i am nothing if not an overthinker,
i can see the consequences of each and every action i might take
from here inside myself to externally to those i love
to forward moving in the future
and even back-ward looking to color the past
but that overthinking and knowing i’m too intellectual to actually do anything about anything
makes for even more frustration in the moment
there’s no outlet
no doing anything
just writing sad poetry
and waiting it all out…
so i guess
don’t take this as a plea for help
just take this in as my brain working some shit out.
~~~
just go read your own writing
maybe you’ll like yourself
one day
a few years ago
during a holiday visit with Kip’s aunt and grandmother
i offhandedly stated (while looking at the various projects and things around the room)
that, as a person who sews, i should have probably gotten into embroidery and cross-stitching
a long long time ago,
but i’d never even tried.
and there was a flurry of limbs, fabrics, and plastic bags
and out popped a cute little cross-stitch kit,
complete with thread, tiny beads, directions, and two extra pairs of small scissors, just in case.
and that started me on a new fabric arts journey
cross-stitch gave way to small embroidery projects,
which gave way to large embroidery projects,
still within kits
(bought by my gifts-as-love-language spouse for nearly every gift-giving occasion)
and i started to memorize the stitch names
experiment a little bit with colors and paths and techniques
and then there was a global pandemic
and everyone needed to stay at home
and everyone needed to find something to do while they were staying at home
and a ton of people got into the fiber arts
and i got…
contrary.
i knew it would happen.
i could feel it in my bones.
as more and more people started falling in love with this art i’d been falling for,
i could feel myself protective of it,
i could feel myself resistant to posting about it,
for fear folks might think i just got into it for lack of something better to do.
rather than be joyous about more and more people seeing the benefit of this older art,
i just got petty
and i tried and tried and tried to tell myself not to,
and i tried and tried and tried to enjoy folks who found it as a life-saver during this global trauma,
but i just
couldn’t.
but i also knew i’d come back
i knew it wouldn’t last
(my distain for newbies,
my silly gatekeeping),
so i simply stopped my project
and began to enjoy different arts,
i poem-ed
and painted
and film-edited,
and i did not share any opinions online
because there’s enough negativity on there [here] to last several billion lifetimes,
and because i knew it would fade
and i would be left with an even stronger community,
or simply with even more people’s projects to look at
while bored online
and of course, i did
(and with an even freer sense to experiment a little
when following the directions felt stale)
and i love looking at people’s projects from the depths of the pandemic,
and i now know this fact about myself even better:
i will be contrary at first,
but i won’t try to keep that gate closed
for very long.
kipventures 