i
i
i
my i is stuck
(not in life
i have plenty of self-awareness/absorption
to not be in danger of that)
but the i on my keyboard
and the more i type it
[iii]
the less likely it will remain
stuck
so here i be
here i go
i i i i i i i
me me
i
mundane
April 3, 2023
i keep reaching for my coffee
[an unthought action]
but i don’t know if i’m ready
to discount the taste of toothpaste
in exchange for the bitter wake-up of coffee
quite
yet
February 20, 2023
i’m pretty great
at
poetry of the mundane
(if i can give myself that credit)
but i’ve been edging towards
a more gruesome poetry
as of late
poetry of the gross daily tasks
the icky parts of being human
the scattered co-morbids of mental illness
the ones with strange satisfactions
and i don’t want to subject readers to such poems
as odes to pimple popping
and detailed descriptions of how my anxiety makes me
pick my skin to bleeding
but
they are part of my human experience
so maybe
they are also a part
of yours
?
January 3, 2023
i found an old USB drive,
the one my first college gave us,
and i know that there used to be poetry
on it–
the first poems i wrote
that weren’t
primary school assignments
or
teenage angst arrangements
but i haven’t opened it up and plugged it in yet
there are a few logical [and illogical] reasons for that:
first and foremost
none of my laptops have a USB port
any longer
(this is easily rectified
by the external bricks
that connect
most cords
with our computers–
i’m not 100% sure there’s a USB connection
on that thing
but i’m assuming
it is
more than likely)
the second is that
i don’t think i’d find
any surprises
there–
i saved all my college essays elsewhere
as well,
and if i were to go digging
i’d probably find
exactly the poems i had in mind–
so what’s the use
of trying to get my laptop to read
a fifteen year old piece of technology
to not unearth any fun finds
but surprises inside
are my third
hesitation
reason–
what if i
actually put on it
something i don’t necessarily want to see
now;
what if
i hid some angsty gems–
do i want that in my head
now?
and the worst surprise
i think i could find
is if there is actually nothing inside.
but look at me
not checking the brick
for a USB port,
not grabbing the drive
from the basement where it was nearly stepped upon,
not finding a way
to find out
what’s on it,
but instead writing a whole
silly
poem
about how i don’t want to know–
[but i still do want to
and that
is the
problem]
May 20, 2022
i wonder if poets of yore
ever practiced writing
with mundane daily tasks.
i know they wrote of the very human
feeling of falling in love,
but were there ever any poems of
getting a bit of poppyseed stuck in their teeth,
or that feeling of falling right when you’re about to
lose consciousness to go to asleep?
there were poems with storms as metaphors,
analogies,
but were there ever poems where storms were simply storms
and they enjoyed in the moment,
and wrote in the after
of feeling the thunder
shake
and quake
the whole house?
i feel as though my poetry hits a spot
that hasn’t necessarily been hit
that hard
yet;
the mundanity of human existence.
and i can’t be the first person
to put prose emotions into poetry,
but i do wonder if the greats
of late
or long
ago
ever did what i’m doing
it just wasn’t as accepted
or expected
then.
August 12, 2021
i’d like to turn the difficult times
into beautiful poetry,
paint prose with words,
tie them up in rhythm, rhyme, and scansion.
i’d like to take the lovely times
and create gorgeous works
from them too,
burst forth with novel metaphors,
capture the moments,
the meadows,
with similes and allegories and alliteration
but instead
i feel
stuck
i feel
restless
i feel like i’m best
at
turning the mundanity
into humorous
but still mundane
poetry
and i suppose i should be okay with that
but i just kind of want
more
kipventures 