writing gibberish
writing balderdash
writing silliness and illegible things and nothing at all
writing not only to have written
but to feel the feeling of writing
writing to wake myself up and warm myself up for the day
that probably won’t include more writing
[but you never know…
you
never
know]
i write poetry
every
single
day
and i wish i wrote
other things
almost
every
day
too
and the easiest would be
storytelling
through
the poetry
but whenever i try to stray from facts
my whole body and soul
completely rejects it
until i cannot even fathom
putting anything out there
that is not 100%
verifiable
tiny books and booklets
and notebooks and scraps of paper
and bound and unbound pages
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere
what will i ever do with all these writings?
[what will i ever do with this digital equivalent as well?]
writing has always been how i
come to terms with my emotions
even before i wrote poetry every morning
i would analyze things through personal essay
and even before i was intrigued by a writing major
i was writing-creating things
constantly:
scenes
lists of characters
concepts
a single piece of dialogue
just a whole bunch of names i loved
while those might not be the
standard journal-to-figure-out-ones-feelings kind of writings
i think they were my way of figuring things out
in my brain — lists to organize the chaos
constantly thinking in theatre
ideas upon ideas upon ideas
maybe that’s what i should do as a writing challenge;
find one of the concepts i created as a child
and see how far i get in the process of fully committing to it
and creating it
and making it come to life as a fully fleshed-out piece
[whatever kind of writing that may be]
as an adult…
that could be fun…!
writing before 7
writing before i’m fully awake
writing before breakfast
before coffee fully takes effect
before i know what my mind is doing this day
but i also know
later today
i’ll have no desire to write
or
the desire will be there
but the motivation
the actually action
will cease
so morning writing it is
with its
imperfections
and sleepy word choices
and distractability
at least i’m sitting here
writing
that’s more than i can say for
the rest of my day
i wish i could think of all the words i can’t think of right now
i wish i could recall all the vocabulary that’s in my head
but they’re stuck behind sticky mind-doors
where the mental wood has warped over the years of trauma
and protecting myself against trauma
the maze in my mind
simply to find
a fucking synonym
is atrocious
[i measure out how detrimental it is to the poem
if i should sit and think, and perhaps get lost in my own thoughts
or stop and look it up on the internet, and thereby lose the spell i cast
on my own poetry being sans-internet-influence,
or ask my kip
or set a reminder to go back and check
at a later time…
usually i set a reminder in the way of brackets around one word
and hope i can find the exact alternate
i thought i could think of
at the time of writing]
writing in a way that felt hard
but turned easy
because i [apparently] have
a lot
to say
[the hj story]
write
and write
and write and write and write
until you’ve exorcised all the demons
inside your own mind
as i write
and write and write
throughout my life
i wonder what it’s all about
who it’s all for
if it’s all for me, that seems
statistically
a little daft
for there are billions of
people on this planet of ours
and even more that have come before
and will join us
after we are all
gone
so to write for only one life
that feels
foolish
but again, the human condition is such that
writing truly and honestly
for yourself
often makes happenstance happen
and many many others
see themselves in your
words
so to write for others
in a way that makes others feel seen
you need not think of the others
[you must not think of the others]
else the writing comes off as
cliche
or trying to hard
or pandering to an audience
i can’t stop myself from thinking of an audience
even as i write these morning poems
daily
daily
daily
that i doubt even i could ever get through
on a re-read
i can’t help but wonder
if someone will love reading my words
with as much care and mild obsession
as i took writing them
[or is that not true — i’m not really careful
or obsessing
as i write these
every
single
morning — i’m flinging them
stanza by stanza
out into the ether
and hoping they catch the eye
of someone
who needs them]
making sure i write
and write and write
until all the words i’ve written
are poetry
or at least something like it
and i’ll have something to post
and something to read
in the future
when/if/when i reread everything
looking for something
that may
might
perhaps
stand the test of time
kipventures 