it’s always so strange
writing in the nighttime
everyone around me already asleep
it feels like a secret
i may get to keep
unlike the morning writing times
where it flows from me
and into the ether/the void/the endless space that is the internet
those secrets i always
let
go
[and i think they may still be going]
i have so many ideas
and concepts
and words
and stanzas
running through my head at all times
i am damn near constantly in a state
of needing to get something
out
of my system
but i don’t write when i need to
i save it all up for the morningtimes
and in the morningtimes
when i’m ready to write
i come up with almost
nothing
i’m writing
poetry
as warm-up
for maybe something new
something old
something played
something playing
something tragic
something nostalgic
something
i’m going towards
now
but what to write about
when my brain feels so tired
and exhausted from trying to
be creative all week
and knowing that there’s still a couple of things
left to adjust
and fix and mix in
but it’s ok
for a first
draft
it’s ok
for my first
try
it’s ok
for a first
and maybe even a second
or maybe
maybe
maybe
it’s better than ok
for all of those things
[i need to believe
in my creativity
more]
gibberish poems
can become
gibberish songs
which may be
exactly what i need to do
in order to stop me
from overanalyzing
and overjudging
and overscrutinizing
my own creativity
creativity streams from me
from my fingertips to a computer screen
from my acting choices to an audience’s eyes
from my body on a circus apparatus
and i feel
almost
creative
i don’t actually know what it means
to be
a great writer
a great poet
i’m just sitting here
at my messy dinner table
early in the morning
writing whatever comes to mind
as a way to encourage myself
to deal with the day
that is coming towards me
at breakneck speed
maybe,
when you’re in your ‘fighting a [seemingly] losing war
against fascism with the best tool you have —
kindness’ era
you’ll understand
~~~
i feel like this kind of morning
and this kind of writing
is the reason i started this challenge to begin with
i feel more awake
more aware
more ready to start my day
though i still need to edit and pick and send in the audition
i feel so much more prepared for it
now
~~~
“you look like such a writer!”
of my big sweater
comfy tee
glasses
bun
and coffee in hand
and i do, don’t i?
i do…
not really feeling
the writing right now
but i know i should
and i gotta
and i will and i am and i have been
and i did
in photography, i have no problem
taking tens
of hundreds
of thousands of photos
knowing that somewhere in there,
there will be a great picture —
gorgeous
experimental
framed well
captured beautifully
and composition, exquisite
and even in poetry, mornings of multitudes,
all my poems
multiple
every morning, i know
not every poem will be great
but somewhere in here
there may be something
to write home about
then why oh why do i shy away from
the writing of prose/novels/
or plays?
as if i need my first try to be
so great
otherwise i should just
give
up
?
is it simply that it takes so much longer to write
longer form, than it does to slap dash down a poem
or capture a second or few
in a non-moving image?
so the effort to output
ratio feels more
[risky]
[or am i so scared of something more/or less scary?]
i just want to run around in a field
or forest
without having to worry
about taxes
or dinners
or interpersonal relationships
except for those i create in my mind
where is my idyllic adulthood?
kipventures 