maybe time to write
maybe time
to
not
but all i know is
i have tea
beside me
and music
coming from this apparatus
on which i write these words
and i could write for another hour and twenty minutes
or i could
not
and it wouldn’t make much of a difference
for anyone other than
myself
but for myself
it could make
all the difference
in the world
sometimes i write things
and i can follow my own train of thought
like “ah, i see this scent/song/experience
reminded me of this other one
and now i gotta work backwards
through poetry
to find all the connections, but they’re there
i see them
clear
as
day”
and then there are times where i’ll just random write words
and even then, sometimes, the underlying meaning
or at least the underlying inspiration
is right there for me to see
clearly
and yet
there are other times
[like very very recently]
where i’ll write a thing
and it’s like my fingers had a mind of their own
and i’ll look at the poem
and think to myself
“what the actual fuck?”
“where in the multiverse did that come from?”
“am i even in the same body as these appendages of mine???”
but i suppose that’s what makes poetry
kinda fun
sometimes
i’ve always used poetry
to warm up for writing prose
but last night i wrote prose,
and this morning feel invigorated
to write poetry once more
and perhaps it is not the type of words i type
but instead simply the act of writing itself
which warms and invigorates and excites me
for future writings
[perhaps
perhaps
perhaps
i can call myself
a writer]
i’m not really feeling writing
but i’m not really feeling
not writing
either
guess i’ll just
meander about this document
with words
[because that’s not writing
but it’s definitely not
not writing
right?]
sometimes
subjects will mull around in my brain
for days
weeks
maybe months
[sometimes years]
before i write them down
in poem form
it’s like steeping a tea full of thoughts
so that, when i go to write it, it’s actually flavorful enough to taste
and perhaps taste is the way words come to me
[i do care about mouth-feel]
and expression is as much about
the emotion
as it is
the explanation
so the next time i’m pondering a subject matter
and think to myself “why haven’t i written it out yet?”
i can just answer
“it’s still stewing
still steeping
still brewing
give it time
give it time
it’ll taste better
with a little more time
[have you ever
not
written it out?]”
one word to get across the finish line
of a word count goal
that is all mine
and i did it
just for me
just for me
i wonder
if i whiled away my morning hours
finding the rhymes
and alliterations with time,
if i’d feel more
connected/
more a part of/
more in line
with my silly morning poems —
if i seriously sat still
thinking of the perfect line
the perfect rhyme
the perfect kind of poem to
express
and impress
and decompress
and perhaps then
i’d force my poems on others
[but, as it stands now, i can only make that happen
for like half to two thirds of a full poem,
and then i let go the pretense, and get back to the words
that just make sense
with my morning brain]
sitting down to write
and not feeling the immediate
“i have to eat”
“i have to use the restroom”
“i have to do anything other than
write right now”
and i don’t know what to do with that
how to use it —
all the possibilities are before me
spread out
mapped and tangled and crumpled from
viewing but disuse
and i simply want to write
something
something
something
to make myself feel
like i’ve used my
one wild and wonderful brain
sometimes
when i don’t know what to write
i’ll just lightly tap my fingertips
against the keyboard
i don’t press any of the buttons down
it’s not to make any sort of mark
on the electronic page
rather
i’m trying to shake creativity loose
from my fingers, hands, arms,
body —
i’m trying to rain down onto the keyboard
and maybe one of these puddles
will create words
that i can splash into
and from which
i can start
a poem
but, should i want to write a book,
what book should i write?
should i re-write my first ever finished novel?
try to make it less about what i needed to hear
[and say]
at that moment in my life, and instead keep
the characters and their journey
and clean it up a bit
for a more
general
consumption?
should i try to finish up the novel i started
recently
with magic at its core
with a [relatively] scientific explanation
should i create my silly idea for a choose your own adventure novel?
should i write the fairy story of a person writing a fairy story
that they need
[and i probably do, too]
should i instead focus on play-writing?
or putting together a collection of
already written poetry?
i think i want to fall into a novel
like i did five years ago…
maybe that first option
really is
the way
to
go
kipventures 