every now and then i get scared
off from sharing this poetry blog because
what if my best poems are behind me
and those i invite to read only see now and upcoming
and never ever see the good stuff?
writing for an audience
July 11, 2023
stop writing
for purpose
stop writing
for audience
stop writing
for rules
and structure
and rhyme scheme
and
just write
for expression
for emotion
for you
for you
[for me]
[i write for me
let that be what it will be]
January 8, 2022
too tired to write anything
of substance
too word-play-y
to not,
stuck in a limbo
of will i won’t i
(a new take on ‘will they won’t they’)
(get it, cuz i’m nonbinary and use they/them pronouns)
listening to music from the
‘Roaring 20’s’
so what are we?
‘The Coughing 20’s’?
‘The Dying 20’s’?
‘The Denying and Closing our Eyes and Covering our Ears and Screaming “[B]LA[B]LA[B]LA”
Over All the Signs
and Words of Learned Folks
and Science
20’s’?
i wish i had the compassion of
Amanda Gorman
the faith in people of
Anne Frank
the calmness and knowledge and belief
of so many
but i am caught between
i want to see the good
and
i can only see the bad
played
over
and
over
and
over
again
behind my eyelids
every time they close
(and most of the time while they’re open,
too)
i know i’m doing little
to halt/hold/stop the division
of one side
‘gainst the other,
but it’s hard to listen to folks
who’d never listen to me
were i to show them my true self,
who argue that folks like me
are a disease unto society
and deserve the worst of death.
if you can’t look at me like a human
then why should i listen to you
like your opinions have any say
in my living my own life
in my own honest way
(maybe this is why
it’s so important
to look inwards
for spirituality
as opposed to outwards)
but this poem
is kind of a mess,
but it is morning
so i can mull through
my thoughts of the day approaching
and get them all out of my fingertips
and onto this blank page/document/screen
for all to see
(or at least the six of you who usually read)
(hi, by the way)
and the poem doesn’t ~need~ to mean anything
it can just be,
a product of my brain,
my overthinking-
obsessive compulsive tendency-
pessimist in the body of an optimist-
-brain,
and leave it
for whomever may need it
(which might just be me
needing to get it out
in order to write
other things)
January 5, 2022
i think
and think
and think and think and think
and i plan poems while outside
walking with my good dog
and yet,
after pre-bed rituals,
and cajoling animals upstairs,
and leaving the video player window
on this here computer,
and entering the blank document space,
as soon as i’m ready
set
get to writing
all things
(and thinks)
have left
and i’m left
with
writing about writing about writing about writing about…
[you get the picture]
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…
)
July 3, 2021
connect
with
your words
yourself
your past
your present
(maybe even your future)
all you have to do is
connect
with
your words.
~~~
every evening i go to bed
expecting to wake up
and be hit
struck
stampeded
by inspiration,
and every morning i wake up
and i’m still
simply
tired.
~~~
(is it time yet?
time to contemplate what makes folks ‘like’ the poetry i post?
is it time to admit that, maybe i’m not writing for an audience,
but i’ve probably started posting for one.)
kipventures 