“bagels…” we whisper
wistfully
into the air
towards the sky
aiming at the heavens
hoping the bagel gods
will grant us
everything
we desire
“bagels…” we whisper
wistfully
into the air
towards the sky
aiming at the heavens
hoping the bagel gods
will grant us
everything
we desire
emotions
swirling
around
scattered and unfounded
(at least half of them)
~~~
do i want to
do work
then
be creative,
or can i
somehow
find the creativity
inside the work?
~~~
all the possibilities
and none of the
decision-making confidence.
~~~
all?
or none?
or some?
now?
or later?
or combine?
or alone?
or is it even worth it?
~~~
i wish i remembered what it was like
to find my path of thought
through
the poetry at my fingertips
instead of
halting
phrases
catching
words
tiny poems
barely scratching the surface
of all that’s underneath
this rainbow hair…
~~~
if i trace the keyboard
gently
will it make the words come easier?
will the emotions be quantifiable
and able to be categorized
and boxed up
and shipped out
to future me
to deal with
in a different [head]space?
music
will someday
come back into my life
but for now it’s
background noise
and podcasts/audiobooks to listen to
and cat meows making up the majority
of my auditory
experience.
open the eyes
crawl out of the bed
put on the clothes
brush the teeth
grab the laptop
shuffle down the stairs
write the poetry
be dissatisfied in the poetry
listen to the ‘evil classical’ playlist
zone out for a bit
write more of the poetry
be dissatisfied in the poetry
meow back at the cat
drink the coffee
read the script for the new podcast
gaze at the dog
write even more of the poetry
feel generally ok about the poetry
change the capitalization
copy and paste into the website
publish the poem
get on with the day
what would make this morning
a real one
one where i achieve a
peaceful/excitable
writing
poetry
flow?
stories of my past
problems from our pasts
[solutions towards the future?]
how am i supposed to write the most beautiful
heart-wrenching
new-fangled
captivating
epic
poetry
if i can’t even bring my eyes
to focus in enough
to read my own words
for longer than ten lines?
our hassle
of a cat
is diligently working away
at helping us get rid of stuff
(i just wish she’d indicate with something
other than her own pee)
Mowgli
(the cat)
purrs
and sniffs
at once
and in order to accomplish this
she must open her mouth
so her purrs
become tiny demon noises
and i love them so much.
switching around apps
to write these morning poems
everything in flux
everything about to happen
and yet
(and yet)
there are still so many mundane days to have
before the just before