divorcing myself
ever so slightly
from my art
[will it make it more true
or further false?]
[i guess i’ll never know unless/until i try???]
writing about writing
September 26, 2021
in the morning
these pages
[these poems]
soothe me,
subdue me,
make me
more pliable
less early-morning-needing-a-strech-stiff-as-fuck,
and if the night has been restless
with less sleep than is ever needed
by me
i can sort through the fog
and become more of a person
(more of a me)
than i was in the deep dark depths of the
strugglenight
it used to be that
taking the glasses off
and sticking the contacts in
my eyes
was my way of waking up,
but recently
it seems
the sudden alertness
has been replaced with
a
slow, steady awareness
of the day
beginning
as i type out
my thoughts
moment by moment
word by word
letter by letter
thought by thought
[with, of course, the gracious assist
of a mug full of cold coffee
to aid as need be]
September 24, 2021
with multiple days away
(at least from the real, in the weeds, getting lost in writing,)
morning pages,
i feel like i Should be writing more,
like i Should have a plethora of backup
just waiting to burst forth
onto the page[screen]
but i’m also meandering
like [[yesterday]]
and just kinda typing
for typing’s sake
where did my morning pages go?
September 21, 2021
i feel as though
the month is almost over
(though there is still plenty of plenty of time)
i feel as though
i’m running out of time
(even though
i’m still young
vibrant
virile[?]
alive)
i feel as though
i’m only half living
(even though
i’m more in tune
with being
a living person
than i have
in years)
i feel as though
i’ll never connect
with other human beings
(even though
the humans i want to connect with
align more with cryptid
than anything else)
and i feel like
i’m not allowed to identify as cryptid,
as anything other than man/woman
boy/girl
alive/dead
artist/not
driven/giving up
even though
the world
is filled
with
shades of
neither/and
~~~
maybe
some creepy/Disparition/music
will calm my spooky soul
and make me feel more like myself
~~~
my brain isn’t fully functional
fully awake
and i already feel i have
enough poems for two today
so will i write a third?
[everything in threes]
when the ultimate goal is not, necessarily, posting
the goal is to exercise my writing
each morning
every morning
every day
write at least one full poem
that i’m proud of
(or, at least, that i can look at and call a ‘full poem’)
so when i’m feeling so out of sorts
when i am uncertain where myself/body/mind/spirit
actually is
i can write and write and write and write
until
i find myself once again.
but what happens
when the more i write
the farther away i feel?
(am i just relying on the house
to fix everything?)
(that’s a lot of pressure
on one building…)
(at least i still have this cat
draped over my arms,
tail flapping without breeze,
purrs echoing in my soul,
claws digging into my skin
as a constant reminder
that she probably loves me,
or at least sees me as comfort
which is
honestly
pretty neat.)
September 20, 2021
contemplating complex concepts
finding the best words/metaphors/allegories
still feeling vaguely like
a vast amount
of vapor
September 14, 2021
stress and
apprehension and
a desire to make these poems
go somewhere.
i’m constantly plagued
haunted by
itching with the possibility
of a full story
expanding
under a reader’s nose
(what was that one book?
Green Angel?
something like that?
where it was poetry
that unfolded
into a complete story?)
and i want these Morning Poems
to tell my story,
but how can they
when my story isn’t done yet?
i may be right at the beginning
i might be hella in the middle
but one thing’s for certain:
life is messy
and stories are good or bad in how they’re told,
not the stories themselves,
especially when they’re true
honest
nonfiction.
it’s the fiction that gets the nice, neat bow at the end;
life blurs around the edges
try hard as you might
to color inside the lines
so embrace the chaos
cacophony
quandary
(and, of course, let your imagination ride out
the potential
of telling a portion of this story
your story
in this form you’ve happened upon…
maybe there is a way to tie up
the loose ends
of a fraction
of your tale.
in fiction,
of course)
September 12, 2021
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?
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]
kipventures 