May 1, 2025

can i just
pick up
where a poem left off?

~~~

and continue the poetry
will it still be magical?
will it still be me?

~~~

i mean, probably
it has to be
because it is still me
who’s writing all the words

right?

April 28, 2025

i don’t actually know what it means
to be
a great writer
a great poet

i’m just sitting here
at my messy dinner table
early in the morning
writing whatever comes to mind
as a way to encourage myself
to deal with the day
that is coming towards me
at breakneck speed

maybe,
when you’re in your ‘fighting a [seemingly] losing war
against fascism with the best tool you have —
kindness’ era
you’ll understand

~~~

i feel like this kind of morning
and this kind of writing
is the reason i started this challenge to begin with

i feel more awake
more aware
more ready to start my day

though i still need to edit and pick and send in the audition
i feel so much more prepared for it
now

~~~

“you look like such a writer!”
of my big sweater
comfy tee
glasses
bun
and coffee in hand

and i do, don’t i?
i do…

January 21, 2025

just write through
the pain and
the loss and
the lost feelings and
the sleepiness and
the exhaustion and
the boredom and
the mundanity and
the distractions and
the battles and
the fight and
when the fight leaves us
for an hour or a day or a year
or so
we can write ourselves
back into the fight
if it means enough to us

[and yes, it means enough
to me]

December 31, 2024

nothing like reading
other people’s poems
to make me feel like
a fraud

a fake poet made out of
three tiny actors
in a trenchcoat

a fake poet made of
a whole slew of fake mustaches
attached to fake noses
and prescriptionless plastic glasses

a fake poet made of
a whole buncha prose
lined up
in shorter
stanzas

a fake poet made out of
experiences
pondered

[but maybe
that’s all a
poet needs to be]

December 30, 2024

the poetry is stilted
today

usually, if i get distracted
i catch myself staring off into space
for minutes
before i look back at my
half-finished poem

and then i take a moment to figure out
if i can reasonably get back into it
or not

but there is a moment
between realizing i’ve lost my concentration
and trying to get it back
that i know so well

and i keep having that moment
that feeling
without the minutes of staring off into nothingness

like my brain has decided it cannot concentrate
on even one poem this morning
and instead i must shatter my attention
into a million tiny bits
and hopefully i can repair them
into something resembling
a poem

August 16, 2024

pretend
for a moment
you don’t know where you came from
or to what you’re going
or even any established rules
about your own identity
or the world at large and little
and you go to craft a poem —
would you know what words to use
would you innately be aware of rules and parameters
poetry has to work around and within
or would you just write what was in your soul
even if the words in your soul had no words at all?

and would that still be poetry?

[i think so]