the internet is absolutely packed
with everything
with hatred and inspiration and foolishness and memes
and i saw
once
a piece of advice that said
[approximately]
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and i think about that
from time to time
because we never know what we’ll end up being
to someone else
and, though i can’t imagine my writing
being someone’s absolute favorite, i can see it
impacting
in a way i didn’t imagine
and for that reason
i suppose
i’ll keep going.
or needn’t poetry have a point?
we’re all just bumbling through
in these systems we’ve created
everything is made up
and maybe
that’s why i create
[because i’m not allowed to make whole new systems
so i make words fit my needs
rather than
the other way around]
[or something]
i think
one more poem
i think
one more stream
of the consciousness
of the mind wandering
of the fingers tappity typing
all the way across the screen
one more poem
of waking myself up
the addition
of composition
to my coffee
and hydration
the combination
is what helps me
feel
slightly
more awake
slightly
more alive
slightly more ready
to make this day
one
that i can at least survive
[someday
i may just
thrive]
but today, i just have to aim
for one more poem
at
a
time
trying to write out
something
while my mind is reeling with
everything
but somehow i can think of absolutely
nothing
to try to write out to say…
i’ve always used poetry
to warm up for writing prose
but last night i wrote prose,
and this morning feel invigorated
to write poetry once more
and perhaps it is not the type of words i type
but instead simply the act of writing itself
which warms and invigorates and excites me
for future writings
[perhaps
perhaps
perhaps
i can call myself
a writer]
i’m not really feeling writing
but i’m not really feeling
not writing
either
guess i’ll just
meander about this document
with words
[because that’s not writing
but it’s definitely not
not writing
right?]
sometimes
subjects will mull around in my brain
for days
weeks
maybe months
[sometimes years]
before i write them down
in poem form
it’s like steeping a tea full of thoughts
so that, when i go to write it, it’s actually flavorful enough to taste
and perhaps taste is the way words come to me
[i do care about mouth-feel]
and expression is as much about
the emotion
as it is
the explanation
so the next time i’m pondering a subject matter
and think to myself “why haven’t i written it out yet?”
i can just answer
“it’s still stewing
still steeping
still brewing
give it time
give it time
it’ll taste better
with a little more time
[have you ever
not
written it out?]”
one word to get across the finish line
of a word count goal
that is all mine
and i did it
just for me
just for me
if i write of the sunlight
the sounds outside
the playlist and the air outright
is that disingenuous to myself?
not feeling the morning page poetry
this morning
but that doesn’t mean
i won’t do it
i mean
i continue to do this
every
single
morning
whether i’m in the mood or not
just to have something to do
just to have a habit to latch onto
just to have some proof
to say
‘i was here, i had thoughts and feelings and insights, too’
and maybe someone will read them soon
and maybe someone will read them in hundreds of years
and maybe
because they’re all digital
they’ll disappear into the ether
but
maybe the ether will get a kick out of all these poems
and they and the void can talk about me
behind my back
when i’m long long long gone
kipventures 