July 25, 2021

for so long
i was the kind of person
who woke up every morning
and stretched for fifteen minutes.

i think i needed it, at that time,
so much loss and change and variability,
and i had a goal and i achieved it;
within the year (maybe within six months)
i could:
touch my toes,
drop into full splits,
left, right, and center,
and i could arch my back
backwards
and touch the floor on the other side.

and yes, i was younger
and limberer
(though i certainly didn’t feel that way
when i started)

but after high school,
i entered college
with roommates
and depression
and a year away
and figuring out my life
and another college
and too many classes/assignments/rehearsals
to fit in 24 hours,
and the diligence
of stretching every morning
slipped away…

and then meeting my to-be spouse
and graduation
living/moving around the midwest
Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Madison,
eventually ending up in our own home
and still i didn’t have a morning routine
akin to that which helped me through high school
nothing for my body
nothing for my mind
nothing for my soul
(but i was fulfilled, body, mind, and soul, in other ways;
discovering circus,
meeting my people,
having my kip with me through it all).

and when we moved to New York,
the spouse and i created a new tradition,
a new morning routine,
to make our lives a little more centered
as we entered our busy days.

and that habit ebbed and flowed,
adjusting for our own needs,
adjusting for the start of a global pandemic,
adjusting for the stressors and fears that accompany
life
in a ‘new normal’
kind of situation,
and we’ve been at this
morning pages
for a year and a half now,
and the poetry version
i’ve kept going
for a little over
one hundred days

and this has been paramount
to my emotional, intellectual, and spiritual health,
i’ve felt more connected to my own thoughts
(or awareness that i’m not)
for the first time since i was a small child

but my body still begs for consistency
and my muscle flexibility
hasn’t been touched in weeks
and there’s no habit i have that helps…

but that’s how i started
a decade and a half ago,
a feeling of need,
of desire,
of a goal i wanted to accomplish,
and i set my mind to do it
so i did.

and i know it won’t be as quick
(and i have more knowledge now
of all bodies and their different needs)
so maybe
now
i can find a time
an activity
a physically centering habit
to help me as we adjust
for new changes,
healthier spaces,
and connect body/mind/spirit
in one.

July 19, 2021

the morning
early morning
just woken up morning
was spent crafting
a thought
a poem
a contemplation
about acting
about anxiety
about newfound epiphanies in my head

but the regular
morning pages
morning poems
morning contemplation
meditation
time
was spent arranging
and planning
and father-talking

which is all okay
but suffice it to say
i’m a little off my poetry game
now.

July 14, 2021

once again
my frantic creativity
is failing me
this morning page time
and i know i have things i wanted to write about
and i know i have things i needed to write about
and i know i have things i could be writing about

but the sky feels grey, not blue
and the world seems tipped slightly askew
and i can’t conceive of how long this off-ness will last
(nor if it’s truly a case of of perception,
or if it could simply be a time of transition
asleep to awake
un-caffeinated to caffeinated
cat-lap-less to cat-lap-full
[and let me tell you, those claws in my legs sure helped me wake a little more])

so i suppose i’ll keep writing.
hoping things start making more sense,
hoping the coffee soaks its way to my veins,
pet this cat until my fingers find more words to write
(and forgive her when her affectionate head bumps a few letters out of place)

because this is my life;
i made it.
mine.

July 7, 2021

shorter time
to write my
morning poetry
today,

and the rest
of the day
is filled with
zoom zoom zoom
(but in-person,
not via Zoom)

pondering
jobs
and
houses
and
subways
and
STEM

and i still have to
write
the writing
that i’m both
apprehensive
of
and
excited
about.

(so, i guess, let’s do this)

July 2, 2021

no thank you, words,
i would not like to listen to you
as i try to get in touch with the
words in my own brain
as the caffeine filters in
ever so slowly
and i [hopefully] find a way to wake up
and put some more words here
and a few more words there
and welcome a few more words in
and get a few more words out…

so
no thank you, words,
words in music,
you are not welcome quite yet
this morning,
please wait your turn.

June 30, 2021

change
is a-comin’
and it’s ok to be scared
and it’s ok if it’s not right away
and it’s ok if it’s not exactly what/how we think
but change is coming
and coming
and coming
and maybe
i’ll change
too.

~~~

writing poetry
quick lines,
every now and then
an almost rhyme,
and i wonder if the greats
ever wrate
[wrote]
this way;
half asleep
as a way to wake-up
coffee in hand
cat in lap
pondering the possibilities
of whole pieces
(but only thinking
one or two words
at a time)

~~~

quick!
major inspiration
flow through me now!
poetry
prose
fiction
creative-non
monologues
whole scripts
anything
something
please, universe, please?

June 29, 2021

angst
existential and otherwise
feeds into my mind
my brain
my psyche
my being
and though i can take a step to the side
watch as my emotions fill up
saturate
overflow
danger levels
tell myself
to calm down
i’m still sidelined
in my own
mind
the angst
getting the better of me
(getting the worst of me)
(getting the all of me,
all of all of all of me)

and yet
what shows
is just a little bit of an
‘off’
ness
to me

(the wonders of dissociation)

~~~

(didn’t know i was feeling that way this morning
a surprise to everyone around me
including and especially me

again

the wonders of dissociation)

~~~

is there any happiness in my brain today?
or is this maybe the point of morning pages/
morning poetry
to get all this angst out before it hits other people;
if i leave the angst on the page
(on the screen)
(outside of me)
maybe i’ll be better around others
throughout the day?

May 18, 2021

i guess i could…
use my morning pages time
to read and edit and rewrite and post
all the poems that have come thus far ?

maybe?

~~~

quietly track the purring
in rhythm with the caffeine beats
thumping [softly] out of these
shitty laptop speakers

the aesthetics you always thought you’d have
you surpassed with unexpected privilege
leaving you with the existential question

why?

~~~

and unrelatedly
why
does organizing
make me feel so much better?
.
. .
. . .
(i know why;
it’s because my brain is the opposite of organized.)

May 3, 2021

and, of course, if i do this,
if i continue and succeed,
will i always post?
will i have poems in [this] document
that are just for me
and if so
will i ever go back to the strained
stream of consciousness
that morning pages are
‘supposed to be’ in?

my problem comes from the fact that
[as i’m pretty sure i’ve poetry-ed about before]
i think so quickly
that my fingers can only barely keep up with one idea
add to that the whole concept of translating thoughts into words
and there is a lot more time spent figuring out how to say/write things
than actually saying or writing them.
[and, seeing as how my head can *sometimes* think multiple things at once,
i also have often continued on
twelve steps past what i’m trying to take down
so i’m translating
writing
remembering
and thinking
all at once
and it just feels like i can never catch up.]

but perhaps that’s what stream of consciousness should really be about?
taking down the thoughts as they come?
so i [should] write down the thought
and then ignore the twelve thoughts between
and write down the next one?
[but sometimes it’s the steps in-between
that offer the insight into my process
my paths
my connections
and that is the place that i really should concentrate on
for me?]

i don’t know
it all seems too neurotypical
to be helpful

so that’s why poetry is so nice.

it slows down my brain

i process not only sentence by sentence
but sometimes word by word
becoming incredibly intentional
and seeing the thoughts laid out
for all to see and process and understand

so that maybe, just maybe

i could skip from that first thought to the twelfth

but in a way that everyone
[or at least i]
could see the process
sans steps
sans words
sans over-explanation

just thought and thought
bare
nothing more
[nothing less]

offering all that written word will allow

[and sometimes
just
sometimes
offering a little bit more]