when my body lacks
one essential need
it tries so hard to compensate with others
the problem there comes in
when it affects my ability
to try to attain back that initial lack
so perhaps,
body,
you could let me actually sleep
those few more hours that i need,
instead of waking me up with hunger pangs
to try to feed my tired exhaustion
with digestible sustenance
just a thought.
i often feel as though
something big is out on the horizon
[if only i could find it
or at least take steps to walk towards it]
and when i fall into depression
that big thing is to be feared
fraught over
fought
the ‘impending doom’ flavor of hopelessness
[and with today’s national and international news
who could blame me for
only seeing the
worst]
but recently
i feel i need
recovery
from events and happenings
that have already happened
[and are kind of still happening]
to me
i’m exhausted
and they keep occurring
and the feeling of something coming
is only getting closer
and i don’t know how i can meet it
if i’m still absorbed in dealing with
what just happened…
am i vibing
with writing
or am i in need of
sustenance
or am i still concerned
with potential
or lack thereof
or am i just
kind of
tired?
i am in a mood where
sitting still by a blank document
one arm on the table/laptop/keyboard
one in my lap
no movement
just thought
is far more comforting
(and possibly productive)
than churning out poem after poem
~~~
and yet i will write
because that is what i do
and that seems to be my calling
(at least as of late)
and sometimes one needs to have a moment of stillness
before capturing that stillness in art
(if we just try to capture it without fully feeling it
that art is meaningless
wouldn’t you agree?)
~~~
the droopy eyelids
hover over my eyes
laden with sleep
and a few days of tech week
and i am contemplating writing
contemplating huddling back under the sheets
contemplating at least a few moments of peace
before the craziness of today begins
this illness
it lingers
long past
we’re done with it
why won’t it just
leave?
~~~
the tiredness
too
it’s still here
when i’d rather
it not
~~~
how is it that
some of my best work comes
when i’m so tired
i’m losing consciousness
but this
low-grade
continual
sleepy feeling
isn’t enough to make
the magic
happen?
there are some mornings
you wake up
and are ready for the day;
you start going through the list
of things to do
and you
get excited about he prospect
of accomplishing those tasks
and some mornings you wake up
and you can’t think about anything other than
when your next nap will be,
because you left your true self
somewhere in a dream
and you ned to get back there
in order to bring it with you
into the conscious waking land
(and without that self
you’re pretty much just falling asleep
wherever you stand/sit/stay anyway)
guess which this morning
is
i felt so motivated yesterday
(and the day before that)
and i know i did some of the things
on the to-do list,
but i did much less than
i originally
expected
and i need to be ok with that
i need to be ok with that
i need to remind myself that
i need to be ok with that
because otherwise
i’m just capitalism’s
newest victim
and fuck capitalism
~~~
fly
spy
in the sky
i wonder why
you need to fly
around our home and spy
on us
~~~
this
cotton
candy
coffee
is the silliest thing i’ve ever tasted
and it just makes me
smile
smile
smile
~~~
how do i absorb
the lessons i’ve learned
in trying to help others?
i.e. the advice i’ve given,
can i/will i ever
take it myself?
is there ever
a magical wand for
turning kindness inward?
~~~
the poems today
aren’t turning out great,
but they’re not bad, either,
they’re just there
and that’s all they need to be
at this moment
in
time
~~~
do you ever feel
so tired
and yet so hyped up
that you feel like
if you followed your energy
you’d vibrate until
your skin just kind of
shucked itself off of your bones?
…nah, me neither
concentration
is a little lax
may the fourth
(be with you)
and waiting for
cookies for breakfast
(should we get real cookie trays at some point?)
(probably yes)
it feels both like 5 am
and 10 already
but it’s only 7:15
and my brain feels disheveled
like my childhood bedroom i never cleaned,
but if i need
there’s coffee on my right side
and a puppy nestled into the couch
and a kip for conversations
distractions
cuddles
and sillies besides
so i suppose i should actually partake in this
morning ritual;
get some caffeine in my veins,
listen to this silly music,
and get on with my day.
it is
very
hard to concentrate this morning
and i don’t know if it’s from
the stress of last night
or
the vividness of the dreams
or
the sadness of this morning
or
the lack of coffee in my bloodstream
or what
but
it is
very
extremely
extraordinarily
bizarrely
quite
hard to concentrate this morning.
~~~
i feel like i’m getting a better handle
on what makes my poetry
my poetry
(but i really have
absolutely
no idea
still
about what makes any poetry
‘good poetry’)
~~~
i would like to write
another
slam poem;
start a flow
and just go,
balance out the rhythm and rhyme
with internal structure,
alliteration,
and find
the transitions,
the cues,
from one section
to anther,
playing with words
and meaning
and framing
the repeating
as metaphor
as a tool
as a lock to turn the key
and find out something new
about me,
about life,
about our home planet earth,
and our collective strife
to stay alive
when all we want
is eternal sleep
(not necessarily because
death is the answer we’re looking for,
but because all these
isms
and power structures
and so-ingrained made up concepts
keep us so wide awake
that sleep seems a necessity
we never get to get
[when was the last time you had
an actual
honest to goodness
no stress
very good
night’s sleep?]
so i guess
that’s what this poem’s about:
the collective trauma
that is
white supremacy/capitalism/america
and how the one thing
that could give us
the fight
we need
to dismantle it
is the the thing
it keeps us
from doing
every
single
night.
(and are my daytime naps
my making up
for this lack,
or is that just a symptom
of the depression
my awareness
of these systems
gives me?)
((or is that a subject
for another poem
for another day?))
so much poetry
about tired/sleepiness
about writing poetry
about grief and grieving
but where’s the poetry for me?
where’s the poetry where i actually wake up?
where’s the poetry where i analyze and create new forms/
new words/
new kinds of poetry?
where’s the poetry where i feel
(at least a little)
more healed after writing it?
where’s the poetry where i have a sense of accomplishment
post-writing
rather than a sense of
‘well, i guess that’s ok enough to stick on the poetry blog’?
where’s my big/epic poem?
kipventures 