i wonder what i’d be like
free
from the depression
that so often
buries me
[would i even recognize
in a mirror
the person i’d see?]
i wonder what i’d be like
free
from the depression
that so often
buries me
[would i even recognize
in a mirror
the person i’d see?]
i wonder
if i whiled away my morning hours
finding the rhymes
and alliterations with time,
if i’d feel more
connected/
more a part of/
more in line
with my silly morning poems —
if i seriously sat still
thinking of the perfect line
the perfect rhyme
the perfect kind of poem to
express
and impress
and decompress
and perhaps then
i’d force my poems on others
[but, as it stands now, i can only make that happen
for like half to two thirds of a full poem,
and then i let go the pretense, and get back to the words
that just make sense
with my morning brain]
i suppose trying to vaguely rhyme
and just kinda going with whatever appears
is better than forcing rhymes just for the sake of
a rhyme scheme interfering
with the processing that my own poetry is making
but i can’t help but thinking
that there’s more magic in installing
some sort of force around these words mine
[do they need a border to force-cross
to build up the power
to let the magic
out?]
i wish i could be
creatively consistent
with rhyme scheme
but as it stands now, the found moments
hit well
but any effort at keeping it up
sound contrived
and like a five-year-old thought it up
and while that may be fine for some
i think i need to stay doing what i do best
for the sake of getting
all my words
out
so
perhaps someday, i’ll write in true verse
but today
[and tomorrow
and all the next few/many mornings
of morning page poetry]
i’ll stick to free-form
maybe
maybe
maybe
if i write enough
poetry
i’ll write enough
random rhymes
to come into a song
some time
and perform the me
i’d like to be
someday
somehow
some way
[but def not today]
still half asleep
still half deep in the
vibe that was yesterdays time
trying and trying to be, once again
a person who leaves their home now and then
but the sleep got me good
as i hope sometimes it would
and i know i really should
do something, anything to actually wake
but i have to say
this sleepy way
is kinda great
the vibes are
nap
rather than
panic attack
and that’s nice.
maybe an extra little time
an extra single stanza
an extra couplet of rhyme
an extra moment in time
or something else will help me
be ready for the day upcoming…
quick
quippy
poems
poetry
at its finest
and finest thread of
through line
and fate
and maybe make
the internal rhyme scheme
and alliterative styling
say more
than just
appear
for appearance’s sake
i know the morning
is here for me
to delve into my
psychology
and think through things
as they may or may not be
but right now it feels
more like a chore
more like a bore
score none and no more
the act of writing
of poetizing
less than appetizing
and i can’t help but feel
like a
fraud
~~~
one more poem
one more verse
simply to make me feel
like i didn’t just waste
an entire block of my morn
writing stupid rhyming poetry
for nothing
for naught
for no one but me
(that’s the only person
actually
for whom this
poetry)
~~~
and writing
as me
as my own self
is so odd
because i’ve spent so much of my life
not knowing
(or straight up hiding)
who i truly was
that i’m uncertain
i’d even know
for sure
now
i’ve been unintentionally rhyming
for a little while now
and i don’t know
how
i feel about it.
~~~
more words
more feelings
more emotions
more muck
to get out of my system
and out of my brain
to stream through the eyes/fingertips
onto a screen
where words seem so foreign
when writing from the heart
but here i am
here i go
here i
start
~~~
i’ve got good stuff
lately
and again
i don’t know how
i feel about
it