how am i supposed to write the most beautiful
heart-wrenching
new-fangled
captivating
epic
poetry
if i can’t even bring my eyes
to focus in enough
to read my own words
for longer than ten lines?
writing about writing
September 11, 2021
twenty years
it feels like less than ten
i’m still a mid-western teen at heart
trying to figure out how to live life
after witnessing that kind of trauma on live television
in my own school,
barely a month after cancer took my mom
man, that year was fucked.
~~~
the response
to 9/11
was nearly as traumatic
as the tragedy itself
instead of finding solace
and comfort
within community
we (the usa) blew it out of proportion.
we became the poster child for
acting out
(starting wars)
tantrum-throwing
(testosterone-fueled über patriotism)
and general bad blood in the world-relations stage
and the problem with the way our patriotism showed itself
(by literally shoving our ideals down other cultures’ throats)
is that it made youth like myself
not feel safe in our own country,
not feel like our representatives to the world community
truly
represented our best interests
(and yes,
with many fundamentalist factions of many other countries,
that is the same,
whether it’s oppressing lgbtq voices
or women’s voices
or a religion other than the majority…)
i simply feel a sense of
terrible
irony
that the usa invaded multiple countries
(but not the country that was actually responsible for the attack)
as a way to “loosen the oppression” on those oppressed,
but back home
the oppression
of queer,
of female-bodied,
of Black and brown and everyone of color
was growing
day
by day
by day by day by day
and the hypocrisy
of all that
feels so egregious
(but, i suppose, it always does, doesn’t it?)
(only those with the power to oppress others
will feel like theirs is the only power
to un-oppress
everyone)
~~~
it is important
to remember and honor
those who died,
but in doing so
we must also remember and honor
those who died in the endless wars
(american/soldier/and otherwise)
and those who died due to any sort of oppressive regime,
including, but certainly not limited to:
slavery,
ISIS,
AIDS,
Taliban,
Holocaust,
war on drugs,
general hate/white supremacy…
so now you see what it’s like in my brain
all the time
trying to honor and speak out against
all unnecessary deaths
and hurts
and oppression
and not entirely knowing how…
[i suppose that’s why i write poetry]
September 7, 2021
find things to write
in the mundane
it’s in the big ideas
that get you overwhelmed,
you question word-choice
you panic about phrasing
your anxiety gets entirely in your way
to convey
the fullness of the subject matter
with delicate balance
between
accuracy
and
kind capacity
no matter the big subject
but you thrive in the little things
a whole sonnet about a cup of coffee
an ode to names and nicknames
silly little poems
ones that your spouse enjoys the most
ones that get the most “likes”
but i know you
(i mean, technically, i am you,
that is the whole point of this silly little poem,
i’m talking to myself
simply using the tactic of calling me ‘you’
so maybe, when i re-read it, it’ll feel like someone else is talking to me)
but, i know you,
i know that you contemplate the big subjects
you’re drawn to them
you can’t help but think of them
in fits and starts poetically
but also
the more i learn about mortality
the more i realize
there will never be a “perfect opportunity”
a day when all the stars align
and you’ll be able to churn out that “big poem”
in all the right words
and all the right phrasings,
but also,
there is something to say for practice
and following the dopamine
and writing what feels right in that moment,
so maybe that’s why
instead of writing about a big thing
or writing of the mundane
again today,
i’ve thought to write a letter
in poem form
to let you know
it’s ok
to write
what you’re feeling
in the moment…
(isn’t that the goal,
the whole ‘in the moment’ living?
right?)
August 30, 2021
back in the habit
back on board
back inside this bandwagon
back to reality
back to
back to
back to
except
about to travel
about to explore
about to visit
about to have new experiences
about to
about to about to about to
about to
but for now
back to regularly scheduled/written/done/posted
morning page poems
[i hope we have some moments to ourselves
to morning page it up
there]
August 29, 2021
be
the cryptid
you wish
to see
in the world
~~~
is my poetry
like everything else about me,
where it flows better
when i stop thinking about it?
~~~
didn’t write anything yesterday
almost not writing anything today
i was about to ask where my passion went
but it’s right here in me;
i was just reading, re-reading, going over old words
to bring to new light
and that’s what i always expected,
right?
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.
August 24, 2021
went to sleep in a Mood™
woke up in a Whole Other Mood™
and i’m realizing how reliant i am on
the negative talk and self-sabotage and executive dysfunction
to truly be the blame for when things go wrong,
so when i am happy, when i do actually put forth the effort
to try to do things right,
and if circumstances just happen to breed the same outcome…
the low-key self-hatred,
the kind i can ignore away
because it’s always there
becomes loud
becomes bites with teeth
and those teeth are the “proof” from the external factors
which i know, logically, are circumstantial,
or i could have done something to change, but i literally didn’t know at the time
but damn if that bite isn’t sharp and deep
deep
deep down to my soul
till i start to believe the fanged monster
when they say
truly
no one loves you
and you are to blame
[look at all this proof]
~~~
and now we have the decision-making,
the ‘do i put this up on my site or not’-ing.
i’m truly fine;
i’m an adult, so i don’t have those crazy teen-hormones running around my brain and bloodstream
begging me to do something rash,
something stupid,
something irreversible.
and i am nothing if not an overthinker,
i can see the consequences of each and every action i might take
from here inside myself to externally to those i love
to forward moving in the future
and even back-ward looking to color the past
but that overthinking and knowing i’m too intellectual to actually do anything about anything
makes for even more frustration in the moment
there’s no outlet
no doing anything
just writing sad poetry
and waiting it all out…
so i guess
don’t take this as a plea for help
just take this in as my brain working some shit out.
~~~
just go read your own writing
maybe you’ll like yourself
one day
August 22, 2021
i [will i ever?] never do anything with my
‘Big Poems’
and i have so dubbed them because
they are (for lack of a better word)
Big™
there are many words,
the concepts are huge,
the concepts are also, often, risky
(as in, i’m leading with an opinion
or a statement
that has the potential
to anger
a whole group of
[already very angry]
people.
and as a bit of a pacifist,
that concept is terrifying
(both from a my-own-safety
and from a my-own-philosophy
kind of way)
but as a bit of a radical
anti-capitalist
anti-patriarchal
and 100% anti white supremacy
-ist
i should feel comfortable
confident
to speak my own truth
knowing
that to uphold life
above profit
in all things
is righteous
not wrongteous
it’s just that…
the other side is so loud
and my ears already hurt
from closing them to my own personal truths for so long
(but that’s another subject
for another poem
for another day)
today we are wondering
if i’ll ever bring those Big Poems out from my document
share them with the ten or so readers that ever traverse past this page
and even if i get up the gumption
what then?
they are saved and stuck for another reason,
and that reason:
they still feel unfinished.
but, as i think i’ve written before,
i’m bad at finishing things
i’m bad at conceptualizing endings
i’m bad at wrapping things up…
(but maybe that’s what the Big Poems need…
big ideas don’t necessarily have a nice ending
wrapped up in a beautiful bow,
so…
)
August 21, 2021
the calm before the storm
creates excitement for said storm.
it’s the weightless moment in circus beats,
that moment that gives you a peek into the idea
that time is a mortal construction:
that second that lasts a lifetime,
you can tell what comes next
and plan your attack,
and set up a nest inside which to watch the storm
roll by.
~
i wrote this
on June 12
originally,
and i don’t necessarily remember
that particular storm
but i remember storms as i love them:
nature’s fireworks,
conversing with the thunder,
dancing in my hometown rain
before i’d fly halfway across the world…
but this storm…
the calm
before
brings apprehension,
we’ve seen one hurricane/tropical storm
flood our [hopefully](soon-to-be) borough,
we’ve seen the devastation
global climate change
can wreak
and we hope folks stay safe
and we hope not too much damage is done
and we hope to have a nice meeting with this
Henri
but we hope to not keep him in our hearts and homes for long…
August 20, 2021
sitting down
to write my morning pages
my morning poems
my morning whatevers
and i can’t think of anything to say
(or at least, anything i want to put into writing
anything i want down on the page and out in the world
anything that i can actually analyze enough to translate into words)
and i think i should tell myself that
that’s ok sometimes.
kipventures 