interestingly
i am not a perfectly moral being
and i feel like the few times i’ve
strayed
from the morality i’d like
have influenced me the most
in keeping kindness and honesty
at the top of my
values tree
[now why can’t my perfectionism hear that
and substitute in “mistakes”
and feel like making them
would just make my talent and skills
even
greater???]
nine years
married
a married-a-versary
[in this world we’re living in]
but
queer joy is resistance
and showing resilience
and we can do it
while also
using our privilege to help others
in our
community
working through what works best
for my distractable brain/
my undiagnosed, but probably ADHD brain/
my MaybeHD brain
finding new discoveries and tricks and impacts and randomness all the time
and it’s slowly feeling like
less and less of a lie when i
introduce myself and my needs as simply
“undiagnosed ADHD”
maybe
books
and resistance
will save us
whenever folks have asked me, lately,
how i’m doing
[as a regular “good morning”/“hello again!” introduction]
i always answer honestly
[because i really can’t not
unless i’m in the midst of going somewhere else
and only have the time for the word “fine”]
i’ve been answering
after a pause
“good? i mean, if i’m not thinking about
the state of the world
and our country
and the eroding rights
that no one in power
seems to be stopping,
yeah, i’m actually, surprisingly, doing well.
but, you know, the minute i think about
anything outside of myself
i fall apart”
and the folks who have asked me
nod in agreement
then sigh and shake their heads in disgust
and we begin a dialogue
about all the terror
located in our nations capital
[and all over]
and while this hostile government takeover/
overt turn into fascism
is actively terrifying and illegal and immoral
it is making it okay
to talk about government abuses
in the day to day,
and be honest
that we shouldn’t actually
be okay,
so i suppose i’ll give it that.
[strangely, does fascism bring us all in
closer to community
because we actively, finally, see
what we all so desperately need?]
perhaps
i should
accept
that the world didn’t actually
end
all the times it felt
like it did
not at the end of 1999
not in 2001
not in 2005
not in 2008 or 2012 or even 2020
so perhaps
living life
as if it’s not a secret simulation
or a fever dream
but something to make the most of
would be a smarter goal
[but that’s also so much scarier
and i need to figure out
how much push gets me going
and how much puts me in
a damn near catatonic state
of straight up fear of missing out
on everything]
creativity streams from me
from my fingertips to a computer screen
from my acting choices to an audience’s eyes
from my body on a circus apparatus
and i feel
almost
creative
the days speed by
i get a glance
a flip of a flipbook
but the first few establishing shots
as i got the hang of it
went so much slower —
now they speed by
and i can’t tell if i’m missing a page
or a day
as the image on them
becomes something more than its individual parts
the still photos become a movie
the day to day becomes
a life
and i don’t like it
take me back to the days
when i could study each aspect
forever
and never knew what would happen
when it all flowed
freely
[uncontrollably]
spectacular
spectacle
and spectacles help us all
see
wonders
in our own
and each others’
eyes
for once
for twice
for as many times
as we might find a rhyme
and/or reason
to climb
and explore
and discover
and become
one
with some sort of
happiness
[if we can
if we can]
~~~
there’s still a bit of
misalignment
when it comes to
my own self
and my poet self
and i cannot tell if that’s because
i don’t perform my own poetry enough
that it becomes as second nature as
acting
or aerial
or simply listening
but my own poetry
i have to remind myself
‘i made this
and it isn’t
half
bad’
~~~
or perhaps it’s because
i’m all self-taught
and i’m just flying by
the seat of my pants
and i can’t totally tell
what works and what’s a fail
except that
some poems flow like water
and some drip like sludge
and every now and then
i find a rhyme that tastes as good as it sounds
but i don’t know how i found any of that
it just happens
through trial and error
every
single
time
like i’m always starting
from one
sometimes the yearning gets to be too much
and the decision is either to
delve deep
and inevitably find
that even as i try
to live in the memories of the moments gone by
i can’t even remember them
accurately
fully
or, sometimes,
at all
or
just pretend like i’m putting off that analysis
for another day
and put it of
and put it off
and wait
and wait
and wait for the day when
i will be able to remember accurately and fully
because of magic
or time travel
or something else entirely
[even though i know
full well
the first stanza of this poem
will never fully be fixed
so i prefer to live in this one
where the possibility
still
exists]
kipventures 