insert word here
add another phrase
perhaps a whole sentence in this middle place
slow down the thoughts to
one
word
per
line
a slightly askew way of looking at that subject
hangs out in this short stanza by itself
[and that’s how i write poetry]
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
i try to create art with words
but sometimes i need to create art
with art
and my abilities there
do not size up
and i frustrate-quit
over
and over
and over again
but what if
i
kept going?
usually
i use morning page time
to write what’s bouncing around in my mind
and smooth out the edges
of the frantic thoughts and premises
and write for an audience
once i’m done
parsing
ponderings
but this morning
i’m just continually
digging through
my mind’s soil
and seeing what might grow
and i don’t know
if any of my work is readable
much less digestible
but better to let indigestion take hold
than not have anything to show
from such a
productive
pensive
morning
right?
planning and preparing
are nothing when it comes to
insurance
human fallibility
and the twists of the fates
~~~
i use squiggles
[tildes]
to break the momentum
from one poem
to the next
but only in a batch of three
because formatting in devices these days
is far too variable
for a whole line
so i rely on my
three
little
squiggles
to [hopefully] signify
to both reader and writer
that this poem is over–
re-ready yourself
for a whole new
poem
beginning.
~~~
lost in the depths of a book
so visceral
so immersive
so taking-me-along-for-the-ride
i can’t decide
if this one is more stressful than the first
but all of these ninths
give me some sort of curse
of caring
and staring
long distances as i listen to them
audiobooks carrying me through the star-system
the big house
the river
and i just want to know
what happens next
what happens next
what happens next???
why
do i only feel ‘good’ at something
when i’m in enough to know
the difference between
solid and not
and i’m early enough to not put undue pressure
on myself—-
but the minute i might add the label ‘professional’
i lose all self-perspective/
expect myself to be
miles better
than where i started
but i’m only me
i can only act where i’ve been
i can only write of what i know
and only let the words flow as they go
and i can’t force anything in emotional expression
so please
(i beg of myself)
let me be
and let me be me
and don’t expect perfection
because it isn’t a real thing
(and it never has been,
but that’s a lesson
for another
poem)
trying
to be writing
with music playing
(words wording up the place)
(but such good words
you know?)
my focus is split
(even more than usual)
and i can’t reread what i’ve already written
to see if it flows
spits
fits and starts
start me towards a real poem
one of these days
two of these days
three four, that’s all i need
to concentrate on one solid slam
of a poem written down
picked up
spat out
at an open mic
or recorded for those who truly see me
every week
(i miss that)
(i feel weak for missing that)
(but there’s no need to self-judge—
you’ve done that far more than enough)
and the most interesting part
of writing
with words
flowing behind my mind
is that i find myself rhyming with the phrasing i’m hearing
rather than the phrases i’m writing
and i don’t know if any of this
will make any sense
but i’m kinda digging
this
split-focus
un-re-read
rhyming with words you won’t hear
if you’re just reading this poem here
kinda vibe
perfection
is an impossibility
but damn if i still don’t
expect it
from me.
my goodness…
there are gorgeous sentiments
sentences/phrases
in nearly every poem i write
but the whole does not contain more than
the sum of its parts
[not yet]
and i just want to say
‘i wrote this entire poem’
with pride
instead of pointing to pieces
and trying to piece together
my whole heart
am i writing
just for writing’s sake
or am i writing
for mine?
(and is there even a difference?)
kipventures 