September 30, 2022

an end
to September
a month i thought i had
far more of
to do
and plan
and write
and post

but October is not an ending
it is a beginning
[as are all months,
but the winter ones feel more like finalés
than startings]
a beginning to a full month of fall,
a beginning to full-out spooky mode–
set out decorations
finalize plans for costumes
(maybe even plan a party),
a start to drawloween/inktober/drawtober/whatever we
decide to do
daily/weekly/monthly tasks
making the shorter days
fly by
with creativity
and panache
and a little bit of stress
and a whole lot of art

and i could get overwhelmed
with planning for November
and then how it’ll turn to December
in basically the blink of an eye
but i
have decided to live fully
inside this October
when it comes

but right now
good-bye,
September,
good-bye.

May 15, 2022

how are we
already
halfway through May?

(i blinked and April was gone)

but nothing will ever compare
to 2020
and the collective pressing of time
lasting forever;
that March that took
approximately eight years
to pass
and past that
i honestly don’t remember
anything
until June
(it was all March, you see)

i joke that
“time is a mortal construction”
because of a show i was in
(i was going to say once,
but technically it was twice)
and 2020 really showed us
how much of our society
really goes in to
how we perceive
the passage
of time
(and the abolishing of dst this year
did nothing to help the case
of time being anything near
concrete)

(i read once
that the only true marker
that we have
for time passing
is entropy,
all the rest of it
is simply our
perceptions,
so…)

~~~

why
do i
constantly fall into the trap
of thinking that
i don’t deserve
a “big
ol’
breakthrough”™
in my depression
if i’m not at
rock
bot-
tom
?

i’ve looked back at times
in my life
in my time
with this struggle
that seem pretty near,
but i recall clear
as day and night
are far apart
that those particular times
felt like i could always go
farther
down

depression
looks different
for different
people

so why can’t i get it through
my tick-ass skull
that rock bottom
would look different
for me
than other people?

i am not in a place
of rock bottom now,
that i can guarantee
to you and to me,
but i do feel plateaued
in a way i’ve felt
for years and years and—
–i also shouldn’t fall into the trap
of thinking that a plateau
deserves breakthroughs
any less
than a drop past the
“point of no return”™

so why
do i
find excuses
in every place
i find myself?

~~~

the puppy
wants so badly
to be friends with the cat

she sits
as calmly as her little puppy muscles can muster
and waits
for a sign of friendship

the cat, on the other hand,
simply hisses
and growls
and hides
and sighs

as the dog takes that all as signs
that the cat is conversing
and she excitedly talks back
in whining yips
and barking excites
‘come play with me!’
she seems to say
‘let’s be friends! please!? pleeeeeease!?!?!’
but the cat
is already
halfway
up the stairs
to hide just out of plain sight
or tuck herself deep under the bed
and the dog still whines
and climbs on the couch
to wait for her to show her face
in another hour or two
and the puppy whines start up again
and the hisses too,
and i hope one day
they do
actually
become friends
but today that seems…

damn near impossible

May 1, 2022

it’s gonna
be
May

the millennials shout
and cheer
for one of the few moments
of the year
the dopamine is high
when we think about time

passing.

last night the ice cream truck
drove down our street again
creeping along at a snail’s pace
at dusk
and it struck me
how easily
fun and bright childhood joys
can turn to nightmare fuel
with one or two
subtle
adjustments,
and i just
wanted to remember
getting ice cream from the truck
every
single
visit to Grandmama’s
but instead my mind went to
scary places
(and also to mundanity,
which in itself
is a nightmare all it’s own)
and why
must overthinking
do all this?

but it’s okay

because:

it’s
gonna
be
May.
which means less cold weather
(cross your fingers and toes
and arms and legs
because this spring has been
so
damn
cold
since Louka got sick)
and perhaps more thunderstorms
(have ‘April showers bring May/flowers’
always been slightly off,
or are the spring storms actually
moving
towards happening in May
as another subtle/obvious effect
of the changing of our climate now?)
and perhaps a more relaxed and reasonable me
(because of more time outside,
and extended sunlight in the sky,
and potential adventurous trips for us elsewhere
or for faraway friends towards where we reside)

so,
May,
go ahead and happen
because i could use the damn dopamine.

December 27, 2021

i’d like to know
how
people do it:
accept the cycles of the earth
without resistance;
the changing of the seasons,
the darkening of days,
the yearly reminders
of time.

i try,
and i understand
logically
that this is how it goes;
there is no stopping
or halting
or pausing
or slowing
or adjusting
but still…

cycles make me sick.

i’ve never been able to accept them
internally,
so i’m certainly not going to be passive
about them passing
externally…

(i feel like i have a better way of explaining this
somewhere up my sleeve,
but right now
“cycles make me sick”
is the only thing i can register
as really getting across
what i have to say,
so i’ll stop here
and try to remind myself
that even the planet needs rest time,
and while time may not be
linear,
humans’ experiences of it is pretty near,
and maybe the problem is
i was simply built for another planet,
or at least another climate…)

August 26, 2021

a little in my own head
a little outward reaching
a little writing for an audience
a little writing for just myself.

i spent years trying to quiet
the cacophony of my mind
and now i find
i’d love to hear just a tad of it
again;
the thoughts racing each other
to the finish line of my mind
my fingers scrambling to keep up
every moment a passing thought
could pass me by
so i sat by
and wrote,
caught
as i could
a word here
a concept there
and it made me feel
important
it made me feel
artistic
it made me feel
invincible
it made me feel
somehow
more.

and when the thoughts disappeared
when my head was no longer too much
but, instead, not enough
a blankness surrounded in mysterious anxious feeling
the emptiness louder than any giant conglomeration of too-much-thought
ever was…

i’m in-between now
the thoughts are fairly loud
but they’re not all-encompassing
nor would i call them a cacophony;
i still have moments of blankness
that scare me
surrounded by anxiety,
flitting worries,
depression,
but overall it’s much better than it was
(but i do miss
the racing
the hugeness
the cacophony
the need to get everything out in writing
that desperation;
it was like a friend.)

~~~

craft the words
pull them towards
needing to express
needing to relax
deep breaths
four counts
(why does that make me feel like i’m drowning)

~~~

my sleek black panther of a cat
with nary a speck of other color on her
(save for the bright amber-yellow of her eyes)
has developed
four
white whiskers
but only on her right side

and i suppose it’s a sign of aging
and i suppose i should take it as a natural indication of time
passing
and i suppose i should admit she’s getting old

but she still chases nothings
like a kitten
and yells at us
all day
and climbs on top of us
like she’s less than the ten-pound bowling ball she’s become
and meows and purrs on my lap
starved for attention
most mornings
and acts
in most fashions
like she’ll never grow up

and i love her so.