going through
a ‘gak’ phase
a ‘gulp’
a ‘meh’
a ‘throw up a little in my mouth
at my own words and thoughts and talents’
time
a momentary loss
of perceived
good-at-writing
(at least from my own perspective)
and i need
to remind
myself
it happens,
it happens;
it’s temporary,
it’s temporary.
(and for now
maybe
indulge in some
bad
writing)
too tired to write long-form
too distractible to even start
something short
i hope i get to nap today.
giving up on
one contest
for a guaranteed
expression
of self
giving up on
a new book club
(at least this month)
for connection
with spouse
with pup
with cat
with friend
giving up on
a couple of mornings
of poem-tidings
for sharing
my emotions
when they’re ready
to be written about
when they’re ready
to be shared
when they’re ready
when i’m ready
when
i’m
i am
unaware what to write
this morning,
perhaps i’ll
just continue
diverging
learning
creating
etc.
i’m not in the mood
to poetize
today
maybe i will be
later
but now
i’d rather be cleaning
picking up the tiny little things
that make this table less clutter-y,
i’d rather be sweeping
vacuuming
bringing down indoor fences
so our puppy can romp around the downstairs
without the temptation of the couch
just yet,
i’d rather be chatting with my spouse/
beading random accessories/
eating/drinking/getting the day started/
watching the puppy
destroy all our craft supplies/
i’d rather be doing anything
but poem-writing
and yet
here i am:
faithful and firm/
stubborn and steadfast,
i made a vow/
committed to a challenge,
and i’m nothing if not
consistent
[ish]
the focus
of today
is failing
whether i write one hundred words
or one
i can’t seem to keep them all in line
with one another
i’m not one to give up
but i am known for knowing
when i’m fighting a losing battle
and maybe it’s simply time
to give myself
a [day’s]
break
i keep having ideas
good ideas
great fucking ideas
for poems
and essays
and thought pieces
when i’m on the train
when i’m out walking post-rain
when i don’t have my computer with me
and my words come faster than a notebook would suit me
so i just leave it dormant
in my head
hoping against hope
that it’ll all be there again
when i have my things/solitude/words/supplies
but it’s all lies
i know the words are there
and the concept needs to be shared
i’m just
plain
scared.
i
don’t
wanna
do it
i don’t
want
to morning pages
i don’t
want to write
this morning
i don’t
want to be forced
or force myself to be
creative
fake inspiring
inspired
by the cold outside
(or inside for that matter)
by my sleepy eyes
or exhausted brain
or heart that has yet to gain
any sort of strength
(they say the heart is a muscle
but how do you exercise it
to be more open
more loving
more child-like
more you?)
i
don’t
wanna do
anything
so instead
i’m writing
about the feeling
and hoping
you’ll understand
too
trying to write
and failing
because there’s so much convey
it makes the tears start falling
is way more off-putting
than
trying to write
and failing
because you just can’t think of anything to say
[i love you forever, Louka]
feet:
hurt.
big poem:
unfinished.
nap time?
nap time.
~~~
i hope that’s
[a cheeky]
enough poem
for today.
~~~
but
just in
case
here’s a
trio
to hold
any
expectations
aloft
[or
something
like that]
kipventures 