who else
has gotten
this far in life
just to
question
everything?
~~~
probably
a lot of people
actually
amiright
~~~
books
bringing
creativity
tv shows
about
gaming
where is the fantasy
in my own
life?
where can i
create
and write
and adventure?
where can i
do all the things
buzzing about
in my little
MaybeHD
brain?
gold painted roses
and bunches of baby’s breath
sparkle as they die
~~~
are haikus still a
Japanese art form when the
US does it wrong?
~~~
crow phone cases for
both the spouse and myself; match
and we become one
no creative energy
no inspirational flow
no way to know
if this is how it is today
or if i just need to let my imagination
go
~~~
so
i suppose
i’ll write
~~~
a glitch
in the system
a ghost
in my computer
a little spark of the unknown
is everywhere
around us
hungry
worried
early
morning
mundane and
not so mundane
worried
so worried
still hungry
~~~
calm morning
of stress
wanting
less
of the drama that comes from
this little broken puppy pup
but still
we’d rather
have her
all torn ligaments
and fractured bones
and menacing hassles
than not
~~~
it’s so strange to hear
simple
calm
piano
in the morning
i’m used to
acid jazz
and electronic house
and more chaotic sounds
to wake up to
but the calm simplicity
seems to be helping me
find more in my poetry
(and harmonizes well with a sighing puppy)
how long
can i hate myself
and come out the other side
to love
it has to be a flat circle
like time
no?
~~~
weird ass songs
fill my
weird ass heart
with
weird ass vibes
of
weird ass love
(hahaha, ass-love)
~~~
i feel as though my poetry
is getting less and less
hinged
i.e.
more and more
and more and more and more
unhinged
as the words/years/time flies by
but maybe i was always this unhinged
it just took a little while
to write
write
write as if your life
depended on it
write
as if you couldn’t start a whole day
without it
write as if you couldn’t find
your true identity
as a human being
unless you were to
write
write
write as if you just can’t do anything
but
write
~~~
am i actually
naturally
good?
or am i fooling myself
over
and over
and over again?
~~~
does it even matter tho?
if i get satisfaction?
if i feel pleased?
should i even care if anyone else deems it ‘good’
?
mushrooms
and tree leaves
and images only i can see
my head fills to the brim with
delights
and devestation
and it’s no wonder
the bright devouring
of death
of fungi
are what i connect with
best
~~~
my therapist often rephrases links
of two seemingly disparate ideas
from “but”
to “and”
and
it has helped me in my own journey
to temper my black and white thinking
and see the world for the shades of grey
it truly is
~~~
queer icons
rainbow capitalism
greedy estates
but accessible designs and an un-kept gate
fuck
everything really is a shade of grey
how can i remember
remembering
but can no longer remember
the actual thing?
~~~
it hurts my soul
to see our puppy so
sad and distressed
standing still in a cage
but it’s for her own good
and i wish
i wish
i could
explain to her in words
she’d comprehend:
‘just a few more days
and after, take it easy
and then, hopefully,
no more
puppy
prison’
~~~
how do people
craft poetry
instead of just letting
their guts fly free
internal thought process
and emotionality
all nakedly out
for any perusing
reading
eye to see?
sitting here
thinking of neurodivergence
thinking of
anxiety and depression
thinking of
acting from such a young age
thinking of
diagnoses and non
thinking of
societal standards
thinking of
pressure and constructs
thinking of
freedom from expectations and all that
~~~
experiment
think of words not often written
ponder places and things alike
you rarely ever write about
and maybe
just maybe
your poetry can have fresh(er)
life
~~~
to write about what i’m feeling:
a little bit of pain
a lot of hunger
love for my dog and for my kip
(and begrudging love for our
hassle cat)
the cold of the ice pack
the water flowing from esophagus
to stomach
and on
the tap of my elevated leg
toe against air
to the tempo of the music
yawns
tiredness
worry about armpit stinkiness
this whisker poking out from my chin
and an extreme itchiness on my scalp, under my braid
my teeth clenched together
(relax, relax, relax)
the taste of this blueberry coffee
and a little bit more centered
than when i started this poem
lost
in a book
in music with words
in my own head’s thoughts
of solid phrases and anti-self-care behaviors
and i can’t think of how to
just get
out
~~~
thinking
about writing more
songs
poems to music
phrases that match up
with a tune and orchestration
and wanting to
maybe
perform it all
at some point
[soon?]
~~~
what happens
when you start thinking
in poetry
and try to bring others
along for the
ride
can you teach them how
or is it still just
such
a vibe?
