i have
so many
so much
works
words
on the page
inside the screen
swimming through my head
it’s a wonder
i haven’t lost
all sense
and sensibility
awareness
and awakeness
sanity
and sanitary
self-hood
selfishness
would be writing
only about me
(oops)
but i guess
it’s better
than not having art
around
everywhere
right?
this poetry blog
has become my respite
my sanctuary
from my own perfectionism
and putting too much pressure on myself
in most (if not all other) things
but how do i take the lessons learned
here
and bring them with me
everywhere?
i don’t really know
what i’m writing this morning
i just know
i wish i had
some
dopamine/serotonin/anything
to keep me company
through this season
~~~
is my
not having
an up-to-date phone
just a reminiscence of being
four versions out of date
in my aol/internet service
and therefore
a form of
comfort?
~~~
writing poems
and hearing the rhymes
that didn’t make it in
but somehow
making the poem
fuller
is a weird sort of poet magic
write fast
low batt
oh no
your little arms are shaking
quaking in your shoeless boots
how long till the computer shuts down
could be two seconds
could be ten minutes
who knows
who knows
~~~
is my writing any good?
i ask in a poem
no one
will probably ever see
but me
~~~
the feels
are getting to me–
the random flashes of memory,
the stop-me-in-my-tracks because
a song reminds me of
a random day i had once
so so long ago
but it won’t leave my head–
why can’t i move on?
be the person i want to be?
connect with the child i used to be
without this inner teen crashing the party
every time i try to heal?
(i know,
i know,
it’s because i need to heal
the adolescent
as well)
some days
you get the poem
and some days
the poem gets you
and other days
you run away from each other
at lightning speeds
and that’s all okay
i write
every morning
to warm up my brain
i write
every morning
to feel a little more awake
i write
every morning
to get the creative juices flowing
i write
every morning
to feel like i’ve accomplished something
i write
every morning
because morning is when i’m at my best
i write
every morning
to continue a streak
because once i set my mind to something
i accomplish it
and i vowed to write every morning
and so i’ll write
every morning
until i feel
i’ve succeeded
(and then maybe move on
to the next hyper-fixation)
wrote
but didn’t post
how unlike me—
—how like me
(though who can say but me)
how
can i constantly feel
like a novice
in all i do?
i’ve performed all my life,
but i still feel second/
third/
fourth/fifth/sixth/
end of the line
when it comes to opportunities
for the stage/screen arts.
i’ve had six plus years in the air,
but i’m a perpetual student
here.
i’ve written
every
single
morning
poetry
for over a year and a half,
but i’m still too scared to submit,
to hear the possibility
that i’ll forever be
amateur;
living only for the love of words,
never ‘going anywhere’ with it.
and what’s so bad about that?
capitalism/colonialism/white supremacy
forces our minds to find some meaning
out of what we can produce/expert the field
in a way that makes money—
churn out content/
content/
you need to create more content…
where is the place for creating for the sake of creativity?
and why can’t i find my own balance?
i think
it’s because
i just want to feel
like i know
something.
i want to feel adept/
professional/
expert/
master/
ace/
like i don’t have to second guess every choice i make—
that’s what i want out of my crafts.
i think it’s funny
how every morning
i sit down to write my poetry
and [almost] every morning
as i sit
i think
to myself
“man, i am not feeling the poetry today”
but i still write
at least one
(because that was my promise
to myself)
and think about picking an older poem
to post
but then i write
and write
and write and write and write
and have a poem (or three)
to post
plus a few
for a later need
plus maybe one or two
for warmup and whatnot
and how
did i become
the person
who just churns out words
again
and again
and again
ad nauseam
share with the world
your not-so-polished words
your poetry-that-maybe-could-use-some-revising
your writing
without rewriting
and see what the world
says
(that’s the whole point of this poetry blog)
kipventures 