just write something
so this page doesn’t look so lonely,
so these words can have friends joining them
rather than setting myself up to
drop off random words
alone
self-aware poetry
June 17, 2024
stress
and apprehension
and it not feeling like
an actual opening
and the stories we tell ourselves
about ourselves
when i tell myself these stories
it’s to try to solidify
who i am
because i have no idea
i have no plan
~~~
does one good line
make a poem?
is this my style/my curse?
~~~
my poems are making little to no sense to me
this morning
but i’m still writing them
i’m still dilligently typing
words and phrases as they come
hoping to find some meaning
some
time
soon
May 5, 2024
my head is all over the place
which can make for interesting poetry
when i cannot follow one subject all the way through
but fifteen different thoughts have already sped through
my racing brain
but the sleep is also tugging
and i have no way of judging
which direction to go
or how much to write
or let go
or just let it be
as it is
in this mess that it is in
~~~
if i actually followed the stream of consciousness/
the different trains that blast off from
the one station of *my brain*
i still don’t think i’d have words for most thoughts —
‘high speed’ ‘ugh, typing’ ‘that beat’ ‘coffee’ ‘food’ ‘puppies’
none of those words tell a story
in the way i’d want my poetry to express —
how i called it a stream, but i feel like my thoughts are trains
holding all the context for each word within each car
but they blast off like high-speed rail, something i’d love to have in this
fucking country, and sometimes i’m on the train itself, but sometimes i’m left at the station
waiting for all the thoughts to come back to me, eventually
[hopefully whole, with some new passengers/context aboard]
~~~
i feel like the more i write
the worse my poetry ends up
and i don’t know what to do
or how to think
about that.
January 13, 2024
i’m skipped by a day
i’m hoping to play/stay/praying for a time when
i won’t feel pushed
pulled
drawn
torn
sketched
sketchy
wretched
when i don’t do exactly as i’m told
as i told myself
i would
[n’t]
February 13, 2023
i wish i had written more as a child
about what it felt like to be
those ages that i was–
it all felt so solid
inevitable
unchangeable
at the time
but now it slips my mind
i try to hold the grains of sand
as tightly as i can
and i have no specificity
just generic hazy memory
like things
vibes
of times
but i want the solid
the thought processes
the emotions (good and bad and in-between)
i want to remember
me
but instead i get this vague reaching
for who i used to be
and who i might
have grown
into
but none of this feels as solid
as writing does
now
so maybe that’s why i write
every day
even if it feels silly
or poorly crafted
or i don’t know what i’ll ever do with it
i need to find a way to look back
and identify myself
from years away
because sometimes i can’t even identify myself today
September 10, 2022
will i ever write
anything as honest
in the daylight hours
as i do near midnight
just before
sleep
takes me?
~~~
meditate
on the self
to escape from
the pressures
of the other
(but don’t blame the people–
they’re just trying to survive
just like you–
but how do we escape the systems
that are built
to trap,
hinder,
distance,
and depress
?)
~~~
how well do you know yourself
and your patterns
of self-sabotage?
~~~
these poems are starting to sound
a little angsty
but i swear i’m not in
a teen mood™ —
i’m just trying to find my footing
for a morning
after a morning
away
~~~
i have enough poetry
to always have something new
to slight-of-hand any reader
into thinking
i never miss a day
of writing
but i’m too honest for that jazz
so here i am
keeping my streak
but also writing poems
about skipping days
and i don’t know what that says
about me
(and if i should be thinking about that
anyways)
~~~
interesting
watching oneself
write poetry–
a line i thought
would negate/lessen
the last line
makes it feel
so much fuller
than before
i suppose that’s why i’m out here
writing poetry
every day
for 500+ days
as opposed to
studying
and analyzing
and obsessing
and perfecting
a thing
that comes
from the heart
[perhaps i should take that into account
in other aspects
of my life…]
August 24, 2022
sometimes
creativity
just needs a
change of scenery—
a trip to the coffee shop
or to a whole new continent
but sometimes, a simple switch
from table to couch
is all that was needed
~~~
interesting—
i pride myself on variety
on variating my verbs and adjectives
and nouns
too;
repeated words and phrases
(unless used in threes or themes)
cause me such duress
that half my writing time is spent
searching
for the
perfect
word
in thesauruses
and dictionaries
online—
trying to continue the thought
but include intentional alliteration
without the clumsiness of
a word
repeated—
to me that is the mark of a novice
or just a messy writer
(maybe not when others do it,
but definitely when it shows up in my work)
but
the last few days, i’ve had
repeated words
a couple of same-phrases
sitting in close proximity
in one poem
without the third to make it a theme
and i think my soul is experimenting with
imperfection
with finding a simple/correct phrase
and sticking to it—
embracing
the words my mind came up with in the moment
and going with it
and seeing what comes of it.
~~~
i’m writing
and writing
and writing down
the thoughts as they come
the words as they crown
(is that rhyme too obvious?
that metaphor too gross?
or perhaps just too femme-y
for male-bodied bros?)
but my intention
for this one poem
is simply to keep going
keep writing
keep growing
keep feeding the fire
and the belly of desire
to write words forever
(or at least until my word count
inspires
an ending)
January 21, 2022
what’s it like
to know what you want
day to day?
week to week?
year to year?
life to life?
[i wonder
and ponder
my own life through)
or
what’s it like
to see so few choices
that the choice seems
obvious
to you?
decision paralysis
is a subject
i’ve written abut before
(and thought/think about
damn near daily)
and yet
the subject
never seems
‘done’
to me.
(but maybe
it’s a combination
of regular decision paralysis
and the big choices i’m stuck on
that bleed into the littler ones:
my indecision
about my own career
(minus the big reasons i’ve chosen acting,
which is also a way to feed the paralysis;
acting has in it
the opportunity
to be
every career
with
every character),
but within that big choice
i get stuck on
what i want to wear
day to day
or what music
i’d like
to listen to…
but/because there are other things
i know
i like
and want:
i love all animals,
and rainbow is my favorite color,
and kindness i hold above all,
and coffee is the best drink (besides water),
i’m always in the mood for
bagels, indian food, or ice cream,
and i know i need balance in my day-to-day choices:
too much of socialization
will lead to needing a lot of alone time to re-charge,
and similarly,
too much solitary time on my own
and i begin to fall apart)
so, what is the conclusion,
or even the thesis,
of this poem?
is it simply that i can continue to be freaked out
by decisions
and the paralyses they induce,
but i should also admit
the duality
of the human spirit
and that i know what i want
far more than my paralysis shows?
or is it simply
to make a strong choice
and stick with it
(the lessons learned in improv class
so long ago)?
January 3, 2022
peppermint candy cane
leaking onto my tongue
and the prospect of a year
just barely begun
and the lofi beats
ringing in my ears
and the concept of dreams
fulfilled in place of fears
and one more stanza
to make this poem full
though rhyme schemes are for squares
maybe i can pull
this one off
[[guess not]]
kipventures 