shorter time
to write my
morning poetry
today,
and the rest
of the day
is filled with
zoom zoom zoom
(but in-person,
not via Zoom)
pondering
jobs
and
houses
and
subways
and
STEM
and i still have to
write
the writing
that i’m both
apprehensive
of
and
excited
about.
(so, i guess, let’s do this)
everything
is flowing
outward
lately
externally expressing
but internally fluctuating
between
i need to get this out
and
no one should ever see this side of me
and yet still
nothing i do is ever good enough for me
(so how could it be good enough for others?)
the problem
with this problem
is i am not in others’ heads.
i can judge my own work based on my own standards,
but judging it based on others’ standards
is basically just guessing at their
likes
and dislikes
and backgrounds
and assessments
and training
and i can’t get an accurate read.
and as much as i’m afraid of other people
i do wish i could be in their heads
at least once
to see what they really think of me
(so my brain can stop obsessing)
(and [maybe] let it all go)
i’ve gotten so used to this computer,
this keyboard,
adding extra letters
where they’re not needed,
absorbing strange autocorrects
into my soul
(i will never, now, write “feels like” without part of me thinking to myself “eellike”)
(and i know to watch for extra “o”s in every “to” “on” and “now”;
always expecting the unexpected “tooo” “Ono” and “noon”)
what would happen
if i received
a new
typing
machine?
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.)
no thank you, words,
i would not like to listen to you
as i try to get in touch with the
words in my own brain
as the caffeine filters in
ever so slowly
and i [hopefully] find a way to wake up
and put some more words here
and a few more words there
and welcome a few more words in
and get a few more words out…
so
no thank you, words,
words in music,
you are not welcome quite yet
this morning,
please wait your turn.
the first
of any month
scares the crap out of me
i’m so much more able to ignore
the steady, streaming, passage of time
if the dates just keep flowing.
but the reset,
the sudden jump back to single digits,
the shock to my system as i readjust…
write new dates,
set new goals,
pay new bills,
(does it never end?)
~~~
you’d think
for someone who has new years in their top favorite holidays
new beginnings wouldn’t hurt so damn badly
~~~
poetry about something real
(kind of like prose)
flows out of me smoothly,
effortlessly,
the words coming even without me pondering them
the appearance on the document
pristine
and as i go
i think more and more
and harder and harder
and second guess
and try to have a nice ending
(are poems made for tidy endings?)
and i fizzle,
or overanalyze,
and what started as a journey
ends in near virtual reality
can my poems ever truly reflect
what’s happening
in my brain?
change
is a-comin’
and it’s ok to be scared
and it’s ok if it’s not right away
and it’s ok if it’s not exactly what/how we think
but change is coming
and coming
and coming
and maybe
i’ll change
too.
~~~
writing poetry
quick lines,
every now and then
an almost rhyme,
and i wonder if the greats
ever wrate
[wrote]
this way;
half asleep
as a way to wake-up
coffee in hand
cat in lap
pondering the possibilities
of whole pieces
(but only thinking
one or two words
at a time)
~~~
quick!
major inspiration
flow through me now!
poetry
prose
fiction
creative-non
monologues
whole scripts
anything
something
please, universe, please?
angst
existential and otherwise
feeds into my mind
my brain
my psyche
my being
and though i can take a step to the side
watch as my emotions fill up
saturate
overflow
danger levels
tell myself
to calm down
i’m still sidelined
in my own
mind
the angst
getting the better of me
(getting the worst of me)
(getting the all of me,
all of all of all of me)
and yet
what shows
is just a little bit of an
‘off’
ness
to me
(the wonders of dissociation)
~~~
(didn’t know i was feeling that way this morning
a surprise to everyone around me
including and especially me
again
the wonders of dissociation)
~~~
is there any happiness in my brain today?
or is this maybe the point of morning pages/
morning poetry
to get all this angst out before it hits other people;
if i leave the angst on the page
(on the screen)
(outside of me)
maybe i’ll be better around others
throughout the day?
coffee beats
caffeine beats
coffee beans
coffee club
caffeine caffeine
(will there ever be a time
that covfefe might be an adorable memory from the past
instead of the trigger
it is now?)
(doubtful)
~~~
my head is pounding
from my sinuses
to…the rest of my body
(all from my sinuses)
(my sinuses are fully to blame)
and i’m blaming my sinuses
also
for not feeling
quite
fully
awake.
~~~
are these half-asleep
ramblings
the things
i really want in my poetry blog?
(when haven’t they been?)
those who
decide to
or decide not to
have actually made a decision
those of us who
stay in the middle
are doomed to
stay in the middle
~~~
it’s always interesting
to be clued into
another family’s drama.
i’ve only ever been privy
to a few sets of families
but whenever it happens
i feel like an uninvited audience member
to a preview
where the actors aren’t ready
and break character
more than they stay in
and no matter how much i try to tell myself
they’ve invited me here
i’m a part of the family now
i’ve married in
legally
i’m in
i still can’t help
but feel as though
i’m
intruding.
~~~
now i’m becoming worried
of writing too much
of being too real
too honest
for this little experimental experiment blog
when
when
when
did i switch from feeling too fake
and too impersonal
and wanting to be more honest?
[is it just the subject matter i’m worried about???]
kipventures 