constantly feeling on a precipice
of the world burning
of my own superstardom
of our own government disintegrating
of my writing something inviting and entrancing
to my own
senses
but i think,
at least for my own cliffs’ edges,
i cannot wait for the feeling of falling —
i need to just
jump
i’m standing at a precipice
a precipice of my own making
and i think i’m
excited
i used to feel constantly
at a precipice —
like i was about to find
what my life was always meant to be —
like i just needed to hit one moment
or gain one good habit
or speak to one person
and my life would finally
finally
finally begin —
like i was gazing over the edge of a roller coaster
stuck at the highest hill
staring down into the unknown
i still feel very precipice-y
but lately i’ve been sitting back into my seat
and i cannot tell
if i’m finally starting to enjoy staring at the sky
instead of all the expectations below the ride,
or if i’m now trying
to push my weight
backwards
away from this precipice i’m approaching…
i feel as though all my words this morning
are tilting towards something useful
a new perspective
or solid poetry
or something
but none of them are actually arriving
they are simply hanging
tilted
on the precipice of something
but nothing
is bringing them
back to
earth
kipventures 