oh yeah!
i wrote
last night
creatively
script-ily
a whole scene
i can do it
i can write
(other than poetry)
but i sure can
still write
a whole bunch
of
poems
~~~
there are things
to do
today
and i’m actually
excited
to do them?
~~~
sad
puppy dog eyes
gazing up at me
as if i could protect her
from everything
i will try, Computer,
i will try
is there any use
in continuing
little habits
on a day
when it feels like
everything is out of control
(but somehow you made it this way?)
~~~
big feels
little poems
tiny words
you got it
~~~
the leaves
are changing
on the tree outside–
each green
bordered with a red
literally
glowing
in the morning sun
waving to me
in a gentle breeze
and letting me know
this autumn
will be
safe
~~~
breaking up big topics
into bite-sized pieces
the poetry way
~~~
the problem
(one of them)
with having such a vast array
of works
is that i don’t know
which one
two
or three
to send in
to potentially be
published
(especially these little bois—
where
and how
do they
belong?)
~~~
self
publishing?
(it is an option)
sleeping better
with only one dog
but damn do i miss
all those cuddles
~~~
let’s
get back
into the habit
we’ve established
all these days
k?
~~~
is it nerves
is it too much food
(is it too little?)
(or is there something
actually wrong
wth me?)
the questions
of a saga
of a never-ending
stomach ache
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…]
Hey Void,
How are you?
I’m sorry i’ve assumed
i’d need to scream into/at you
in order to make my way
on the internet/
to stake my claim/
to have some sort of opinion/writing/something
out there…
But if i could get to know you
maybe i wouldn’t feel so self-conscious
about the futility
of all this writing,
maybe my poems
could all be love letters
to The Void.
That is,
if you’ll have me
if you’ll accept my love
(because i wouldn’t want to
do anything
without consent)
Love(?),
HJ
~~~
My Dearest Void,
Working under the assumption
that you’ll accept my letters
(you needn’t accept my love,
not yet),
i’d like to let you know
that being a human
is pretty hard sometimes.
How is it being
The Void?
Do people get upset at you,
like i once did?
Or are people learning
to trust in you,
to speak gently,
to respect you
and your ways
fully?
Hope to hear back from you
soon,
HJ
~~~
Hi Again, Void
Just wanted to say hello.
That’s all.
Nothing expected.
Nothing to be returned/reciprocated.
Just a hello/
a greeting
to you,
My/The
Void
~HJ
i knew
i know
it’s the beginning of the month
i knew
i know
it’s the second
(because it’s our dog’s 8-month birthday!)
and my brain put these two knowledges together
and wrote at the top of this page
‘august 2’
like we’ll just cycle through
august
continually
and when i told Kip this story
and insinuated
‘forever august’
we both said
‘no thank you!’
~~~
do you ever read a book
and can feel your mind expanding
your brain re-forming
its old opinions
and ways of thinking
into distinctly new ones?
i’m now on my second of two such books
within a month and a half time-frame
and while i will admit
to it
being quite exhausting
it is also invigorating
enlightening
(obviously)
and exciting
and i feel kind of bad
for people who never experience such
fast
observable
growth
of self
~~~
have i been able
to feel stable
to feel calm and at one with the universe
this past week
though i’ve missed
at least half
of morning poetry
because of the book i’m reading
and its meditative quality?
or is my default
when stress arises
simply to externalize calm
for others around me
but recently
that calm has infected the inside as well?
or am i simply able to
deal with stressors more easily
because of healthier coping mechanisms
and weekly chats with a good therapist
and daily low-doses
of a pill
that works?
or maybe all three?
sleepy puppies
and writing spouses
sneaky cats
and work on houses
long-ass days
and even longer nights
when there is no internet to help
with career or comfort plights
a twenty-first century struggle bus
~~~
how is it that
when i skip one day of writing
i feel like i’ve lost
every fibre of creativity
and every ounce of self-discipline
and every last little thing i learned
over the past near year and a half?
~~~
one more poem
one more rhyme
simply to get myself
better in my mind
to see the time
and time again roll
to see myself
as i always wanted to be
and to finally see me
as i was meant to be
futuristically
and fully
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)
they say the cello is the instrument
most like the human voice
but
whenever i listen to violins
play long, extended phrases
i always catch myself
holding my breath
as if i could sing the line
too
~~~
how is our puppy
so damn cute
and precious
and calm
when she’s sleepy
and so adorably hassle-y
and damn destructive
when she’s hyper-awake?
~~~
short poems
small amounts
because today
my belly says
‘no’
chill morning
chill music
moving info
both satisfying
and
frustrating
at the same time
[when/will it ever end?]
~~~
but my butt
hurts
when i sit in chairs
like a normal human
/
when i try to sit in chairs
like a normal human
and my body instinctively inclines itself
further and further leftwards
until my [right] butt hurts more
than it initially did
so i should just start
sitting
like the queer that i am
to avoid
further
injury
~~~
writing
in fits
and starts
(or starts
and starts
and i wonder where the fits
fit in with
this chill morning
of mine)
kipventures 