j’ai espère que
je pouvais penser
en français
i’m fairly certain that is incorrect
damn close to gibberish
but the sentiment still stands
i wish i wish i wish
i could think
in french
maybe i could understand and speak it better
then
[was french the language my Mom studied in school?]
[could we have practiced together
if life didn’t suck so hard
in 2001?]
we are now at the state
of being home around a week
i’m getting farther and farther away from
being able to say
“i just got back from Europe”
i’m soon going to have to use terms like
“recently”
and then “last month”
and “earlier this year”
i just want to keep saying “just”
it helps with the fact that
my brain is still 100%
in Europe
i’d love to get lost in a poem
[again?]
jumping off the ledge
of a blank sheet
of digital paper
just to be carried along
for the ride
on a subject matter
or an issue at hand
or even a feeling
flowing freely
from word to word
metaphor to simile
alliteration to experimentation
with each line getting longer and longer
or shorter and
shorter
or displaying all my creativity out in such a way
even i have to say
“hey, this one’s worth reading/
worth saying/
worth sharing”
but recently
i’ve only had the desire,
not the subject,
not the flow
to go
and get completely
lost
in a poem
i feel a yearning to yearn
a desire to want
a longing to feel like i want to feel
anything at all
swirling in my mind
worlds and stories and epic tales
i cannot find
i can’t even look
for fear that the search
is what makes them disappear
so i seem, from the outside, like a normal
everyday
human
maybe a little weird
maybe a little queer
but otherwise fine
but inside…
inside the roiling mess, the boiling mass
of tangles of plot lines
and whole universes overlapping
to the point of chaos
and i want to pull at one solitary string
hoping
it’ll un-loose
and unleash
a story-worthy ~something~
but
i’m scared
it won’t
and i’m even more scared
the harder i pull at one
the farther tangled
the other ones will become
until i’m
all out of opportunities
hungry
for bagels
for love
for knowledge i’m doing ok
for coffee
for sleep
for puppy kisses and cat nudges
for jalapeño cream cheese
for reassurance that anything in my life
is going the way it
‘should’
for expression
for quiet
for loud
for everything
for nothing
for something
something
something
[damn near starving]
when will my longing
return from the
war?
[a poem of irony]
[i think that’s the right way to use the term]
when worlds
collapse in on themselves
and collide
with others
similar enough
to nearly match up
but not quite
that’s the mandela effect
that’s daily deja vu
that’s those of us wishing against all odds
that there’s something more out there
than just
nothingness.
wrap me up in
one rib-crushing hug
maybe
just maybe
my soul will re-enter my body
and i’ll be whole once more
help me see —
one and one and one make me
less likely to spend time outside
but more likely to desire that vitamin d/
sunlight hitting my pasty skin
i see only lobster burn
i see only carcinogen —
but knowing i could be out
knowing i could walk about
that is enough to balance out
my extreme depression
into something more equivalent
to simple summertime sadness
(but
what happens
when the weather turns
again?)
kipventures 