May 12, 2021

combing
through etsy
to find
a piece
of indigenous art
of wood
for the five year anniversary
that suits
us both

~~~

wow
yesterday i was so inspired
to write and contemplate
the original monologue
and today
i am not feeling it
at
all.

(but maybe i should just try anyway)

~~~

(and why do i feel the need to decompress after acting class
whether i do well or not
whether i achieve any sort of catharsis?)
(i still feel a bit like an observer
an outsider…
when will that end and i can feel truly
part
of something?)

May 10, 2021

a different kind of sleepy this morning
a cocoon of warmth
of ‘i actually slept last night
nearly through the night
when’s the last time i had a good
night’s
sleep?’
but the sleepiness that comes from that
actual
restful
sleep
is quite different than the usual
just
tired.

(sorry i got bored of this poem like immediately,
i guess that’s part of writing every day,
right?)

May 9, 2021

to wake up
the next day
and the next day
and the next day
forever feels like
[exhaustion]

but some people see it as
opportunity
and i’d love to be one of those people

[maybe one day?]

~~~

cold air
makes me feel
so forlorn
even in the springtime
when it should be a reminder of
where we just were
(though it’s barely the temperature we’re coming from)
it feels like
everything is dying again
and i’ll be placed in my
hibernation
for my own good
because otherwise
that hibernation
would beg to be
permanent.

~~~

to create
or not to create
[for the zine]
that
really isn’t a question at all.

when one has an endeavor
that one is excited about
that one wants to be
at least close to great
one will do it
and do it
proudly.

May 7, 2021

i wake up with wild fantasies
about the important poems i’ll write
contemplating complex rhythms
internal rhymes
looking forward to the times
when i can sit with pen and paper
[screen and keys]
and just
put it all out there.

and yet

when i am ready for the writing part
of my morning
i am hit with not only the absence of any important poetry
i cannot think of any subject matter
good enough to put into words.

and if i try to force it
(the important subjects, that is)
they churn in my mind
making zero connections
barely able to put into words
(much less gorgeous wordings)
my mind meditates
and spits out
‘racism
america
bad’
my thoughts
as a white person
of much privilege
[but not all]
could be important
for others of my similar privileges
but would it be worth it
when there are so many who still don’t have a voice?
and so my brain resets
and says
‘write another poem about candy
about the cat napping on your lap as you write this
about the silly things your autocorrect says
about the concept of writing poetry
anything silly and light.’
and my mind mulls again
‘i have a unique perspective
being in the middle
the crossroads of gender
(or maybe completely outside it)
always the observer
of societal mores
(which i always thought was morays)’
but once again my brain interrupts
and says
‘you can’t.
you’re too tired
sleepy
hungry
confused
distracted by this cat
can’t get into it
can’t get out of it
just write fluff
write fluff until your brain seeps
out
and you can maybe fill it
with important things
(that you may or may not actually remember)
once again.’

May 4, 2021

spent
most of the morning
searching for film/tv monologues
got nowhere closer to finding a *new* one
but maybe, just maybe, i’ve solidified the *old[er]* one?

are poetry parameters
really there if you force
your writing to become a
certain way just to fit it all
into a certain look or feel or
(isn’t that what rhyme scheme
/verses were way back in the old
days?)

anywho
i’ve searched
and read
and contemplated
and i should have been
writing and writing and writing
but at least now i get to
read and read and read
(though i do have a lot to do today…)

it’s morning!
awake!
stick those contacts in your eyes!
drink that full mug of coffee from the fridge!
awake!
awake!
write, read, edit, search, listen to you tummy rumbling
(i mean, listen to the curated playlist that app has going for you…)
break your fast!
drink more coffee!
do your morning things!
awake!
awake!
awake!

May 3, 2021

and, of course, if i do this,
if i continue and succeed,
will i always post?
will i have poems in [this] document
that are just for me
and if so
will i ever go back to the strained
stream of consciousness
that morning pages are
‘supposed to be’ in?

my problem comes from the fact that
[as i’m pretty sure i’ve poetry-ed about before]
i think so quickly
that my fingers can only barely keep up with one idea
add to that the whole concept of translating thoughts into words
and there is a lot more time spent figuring out how to say/write things
than actually saying or writing them.
[and, seeing as how my head can *sometimes* think multiple things at once,
i also have often continued on
twelve steps past what i’m trying to take down
so i’m translating
writing
remembering
and thinking
all at once
and it just feels like i can never catch up.]

but perhaps that’s what stream of consciousness should really be about?
taking down the thoughts as they come?
so i [should] write down the thought
and then ignore the twelve thoughts between
and write down the next one?
[but sometimes it’s the steps in-between
that offer the insight into my process
my paths
my connections
and that is the place that i really should concentrate on
for me?]

i don’t know
it all seems too neurotypical
to be helpful

so that’s why poetry is so nice.

it slows down my brain

i process not only sentence by sentence
but sometimes word by word
becoming incredibly intentional
and seeing the thoughts laid out
for all to see and process and understand

so that maybe, just maybe

i could skip from that first thought to the twelfth

but in a way that everyone
[or at least i]
could see the process
sans steps
sans words
sans over-explanation

just thought and thought
bare
nothing more
[nothing less]

offering all that written word will allow

[and sometimes
just
sometimes
offering a little bit more]

May 2, 2021

will i ever do
anything
with these poems
?

~~~

how does my brain go from
zero to brilliant concept
in the early morning light
but struggles to even discuss
the rest of my morning
(in poetical form)
just twenty minutes later?

~~~

and if i’m struggling
with concepts
in mornings
does that imply that
i should start writing
in the evenings
[instead/as well]?

or am i
simply
struggling
because all i actually want to be doing
is reading my own book?

(and then is that
because
it’s actually good
or because
i simply wrote
what i want
out of a book
?
)

~~~

oh
to be as adept
at knowing
[and incorporating]
language/words
as well as
e. e. cuummings

~~~

five poems
and barely over
one hundred and twenty five words

~~~

what
will my day hold
next?

April 30, 2021

staring at this blank screen
trying to come up with the poems to write today
the concepts flowing in and out
thinness
and queerness
and how they intersect
body dysmorphia and dysphoria
(words i get so mixed up
because they are near equally balanced in my mind
and while they are two stems
they seem to bud into the one same flower),
and how these all intersect
but i’ve thrown a rib out of place
and i am spending a little too much time concentrating on
keeping the ice pack where it needs to be
even while my cat shifts her weight around on my lap,
and trying to pay attention to what positions i’m in
when the pain gets to a bit of a crescendo,
and apparently these are the things that my mind needs to concentrate on
not making the next great queer poetry collection
so…there’s that i guess.

[life]

April 25, 2021

writing poetry
finding the ‘right’ words
in the shortest amount of time
still watching the entire world pass me by
i take a word
and latch on another
and another and another
until i’m finished

but i never really finish
i’m never quite done
i still feel like this is a first draft
a rehearsal
a practice
and i’ll be able to go back and fix my mistakes
(eventually.)

what if that’s what our ‘heaven’ really is?
getting to fix all the things you think you did ‘wrong’?
and some of us are just more in tune with that
than others?

still don’t believe in a heaven
or hell
still don’t believe in an eternity
hereafter
there’s more out there than what we can see
but a supreme, conscious being,
that is the hardest to believe.

a balance with the universe, is what i believe
a yin and yang of light and dark
(though evil/good do cause me to pause
my thinking for just a second more)
opposites standing together
become whole, not opposing
and i can be whole within myself,
not two completely separate feelings/ideas/whatevers
struggling for supremacy,
i can be a person inside
who is whole
not opposing parts
never coming together
to create a powerful,
albeit rather strange
(and proud in my strangeness)
human person.

(it’s rather funny, to me,
that i really do not identify with much of the human race
but ‘human’ is my favorite designation
to stay outside the gendered binary)