i didn’t know
how much i was looking forward
to
spooky season
i didn’t know
how much
i needed
the halloween lofi
in my life[fi]
i might hazard
a guess
that this fall
i might even enjoy
the changing colors
and cooling breezes
and falling leaves
and season changes
but one thing’s for sure
i’m super stoked
to see skulls and bats
and skebletons and black cats
and ghosts and spiders and creepy shit
out in the real world
(not just inside our house)
my life
my poetry
slides from
quirky/cute/fun/carefree
to
the biggest angst you’ll ever see
and i know my life is actually
somewhere in the middle
somewhere in the in-between
but i never learned to see any shades
between the black and white
structured
yes or no
now or never
fact or falsehood
good or bad
so that simply makes my life
hard to quantify
at this point
wherein it has
so much positivity
but still so much pain
maybe that’s why i like spooky times so much
it’s supposed to be so scary
but it provides me with so much comfort
that i calm down the minute i hear dissonant tones
theremin whines
and boos and bones
rattling scattering my confusion
at the difference of the two kinds of life
and reminds me
that it’s ok
to live between
thank halloween.
spooky music
soothes my soul
[it really does,
though i may have poem’ed about this before]
and what began
as a
‘too tired’
‘still a little stressed’
‘ugh we have to deal with all these boxes now’
kind of day
has turned into a
‘skeletons are already up’
‘it’s spooky season!’
*bopping head along with music*
*sipping [[seasonal]] iced coffee*
‘look at all these books i get to organize now!’
kind of morning
i feel as though
the month is almost over
(though there is still plenty of plenty of time)
i feel as though
i’m running out of time
(even though
i’m still young
vibrant
virile[?]
alive)
i feel as though
i’m only half living
(even though
i’m more in tune
with being
a living person
than i have
in years)
i feel as though
i’ll never connect
with other human beings
(even though
the humans i want to connect with
align more with cryptid
than anything else)
and i feel like
i’m not allowed to identify as cryptid,
as anything other than man/woman
boy/girl
alive/dead
artist/not
driven/giving up
even though
the world
is filled
with
shades of
neither/and
~~~
maybe
some creepy/Disparition/music
will calm my spooky soul
and make me feel more like myself
~~~
my brain isn’t fully functional
fully awake
and i already feel i have
enough poems for two today
so will i write a third?
[everything in threes]
when the ultimate goal is not, necessarily, posting
the goal is to exercise my writing
each morning
every morning
every day
write at least one full poem
that i’m proud of
(or, at least, that i can look at and call a ‘full poem’)
so when i’m feeling so out of sorts
when i am uncertain where myself/body/mind/spirit
actually is
i can write and write and write and write
until
i find myself once again.
but what happens
when the more i write
the farther away i feel?
(am i just relying on the house
to fix everything?)
(that’s a lot of pressure
on one building…)
(at least i still have this cat
draped over my arms,
tail flapping without breeze,
purrs echoing in my soul,
claws digging into my skin
as a constant reminder
that she probably loves me,
or at least sees me as comfort
which is
honestly
pretty neat.)
