Poems · writing

Gut Punch

It started raining today before the clouds showed up

I’ve been chasing my tail in efforts to be enough

Slept through my alarm, cramps hitting hard,

Mom’s asking me about the broken-down car

I’m falling behind. The week hasn’t started and I want to give up, but,

You have to grin and bear it

You put up a fight

It’s the only way to break into light, happiness, laughter.

That’s what they tell me,

Even after I’ve fallen to the ground

They walk on by

“You’re not livin’ til you’re dyin’!”

What a gross goddamn lie.

And even if it’s true, it’s an awful thing to say.

Not everyone’s brains work that way

You don’t throw another stone at a person whose given up

Give them a hand when they’re feeling stuck

It won’t make the clouds go away,

But sometimes it helps to face the day

Poems · writing

A Hot Pocket Haunting

Startled, dreary, drool sticking to me, I fall off the couch

What is that sound?

Why do I care?

I look. The microwave is singing.

No doubt bringing some molten cheese or other into being

But for a good minute all I can do is stare.

Wondering, pondering…

…what the fuck did I put in there??


Don’t you hate it when you put something in the microwave, and just…have absolutely no memory of it happening?

Poems · writing

Loquacious Soliloquy

Tainted clam chowder

Abiding this class by the hour

Feels like I’ve been here for days.

I’m crumpled and sour, grumpy and dour,

Waiting to break out of the haze

Your braid is too long, a deadened kind of blonde,

I wonder if the split ends clog your brain.

But that fringy mop you sport up top could never detract from your “fish out of water” claims.

Voice like a dying cat in the night,

Birds startle and then take flight

Trying so hard to switch on the light,

A riveting anecdote. Again.

Your lectures land like a gecko running over sand: nothing sinks in.

Looking over your metaphorical shoulder

Into a sea of letdown students now and past,

I only hope your tenure lasts,

As you’re not getting by on talent.


I should send this to the school instead of a review for this particular professor. She’s truly the pits.

Poems · writing

Shoes

I need a subject, and I’m choosing you.

First thing I see, strapped tightly to me, you follow wherever I go.

Humble and loyal, you tread on the soil, keeping me safe from harm

Today a snowy hue, tomorrow a scarlet red,

Once you were blue, and not a nice shade, no,

Just blue as veins on an unexpected summer’s day.

I’m still sorry about that phase.


This was meant to go up almost a week ago. I’ve been having trouble staying motivated, as I get down on myself sometimes, especially with lack of feedback. I start to lose energy. But I want to get back on track with my schedule (I’ve been trying to post MWF) and not put so much pressure on myself. I enjoy writing just for my own sake, and I shouldn’t rely on what others say to do something I love. Especially considering this poem is about my shoes and it’s not that greaaaaat, but I’m okay with that. Thanks for reading my posts, those that do. Love for you! Sorry this turned into a diary entry. Ooops.

Poems · writing

Peaceful Observance

I want to fall asleep in the sun

Full of warmth and comfort

Impeded by no one

I want to feel the breeze on my skin

Surrounded by flowers,

Pollen-headed bees tumble lazily in.

I want to watch their slow dance,

Entranced by their diligence, their inability to wear pants,

And on the tops of their silly-heads

Two little antennae bumble about

Looking around for the next bloom to sniff out

(Do bumblebees have noses?)

There are questions I suppose(s) that will abound,

Human nature itself is sort of tumbling around.

And in grief, I think, we know this,

Though when that familiar friend leaves for the summer

We pretend not to notice

He was never there.

Without a care, I lie among the roses,

Prick my fingers on the thorns

I will never pick them.

I watch the bumblebees tumble around

Stories · writing

A Conversation

I feel stuck here, sometimes.

“Where?”

Earth? I guess?

“Couldn’t you just leave?”

I mean, sure, but what if I get to space and I get fat from carbon dioxide inflating my body or something

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

You don’t know everything. Plus I might end up missing home probably.

“Have you ever left?”

Not really.

“Then how would you know?”

That sounds like a trick question. I did say I wasn’t totally sure.

“Well, if you want to leave, but you don’t want to go to space, maybe you could go on a vacation.”

Doesn’t that cost money?

“Why would I know that.”

You’re supposed to be super smart!

“Like you said, I don’t know everything, and I choose particularly not to know about money.”

Oh.

“So what are you going to do?”

I don’t know. Probably just stare at the sky for a couple more hours instead of everything else.

“I see.”

You can sit with me if you want

“Sounds like an acceptable plan.”

Poems · writing

Exhale

There is no point,

Most of the time.

Even when life is lovely, I can’t always

Bear it.

Who’s the winner?

Maybe winter, in its deathly state.

Who, but a season cloaked in mortality can put a value on life.

What joy, though, must the flowers feel

What relief as petals thaw

And breath is drawn at last.