(n) indulgence in aimless thought or dreamy imagining
I think of things that scare me
Sometimes in the dark of night
A scratching at the window
Is all it takes to switch on the light.
I creep around, keeping watch,
Making sure every bolt is safely locked.
I know it’s a silly notion,
Living on the third floor,
But
Sometimes still I imagine a shape,
Silhouetted beyond the balcony door.
Joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain
They trickle down your face the same
Keeps my mind in check
A silhouette
I’m fading, fading,
I’m fading again.
Sprinting to the end of my words,
(Worlds)
The ghost of you,
An empty room.
Helloooo I’m alive
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?
I woke up one morning, seventeen, and a ghost had left a message for me. Ominous words written down in a digital hand, that I have since transcribed to paper. I’ve never been one to believe in visits from another realm, and indeed any “experiences” I’ve had since then have done nothing to recreate the feeling of utter violation and dread I felt that day, reading words that I knew were not mine.
Yet, something about it.
“Where was I half the time?”
Felt vaguely…familiar. The structure of the poem wasn’t my style, but the language seemed close to what I’d written in the past.
Had I somehow found a way to send a message to an earlier-version me? And why 3:29pm? Why hadn’t I noticed it that afternoon instead of the next morning?
I know how crazy this sounds, but I just can’t get it out of my head. Its been almost six years and I still think about it. Nothing I’ve found online can explain where it’s from, they’re not lyrics, not a quote, it’s like they conjured themselves into my phone for me to find and no one else.
I’m attaching a picture from when I wrote the words down in my notebook. I don’t like looking at them too long because they make me feel a little sick, but I’ll copy them below, too, in case my writing was a little shaky.
EDIT: I’m realizing that the original, below, has three opening lines instead of the two I had written down initially. Operator error? Or has it changed again? I need to look into this.
Where was I half the time?
Where was I half the time?
Where was I half the time?
All these colors
All these colors
Haunting my heart
Haunting my heart
Where is my mother?
Where is my father?
Where is my mother?
This is something I wrote a little while ago that I’m hoping I can someday turn into some kind of an illustrated kid’s book. It’s silly and by no means perfect, but I wanted to give a little breather in the midst of all the sad. Also, if anyone has suggestions for a better ending, please let me know! I’ve been struggling with it a lot.
/
Licorice mice and sugar sea horses. Chocolate rivers and peach-ring rainforests. Candy corn groves that we harvest after summer. The candy is at its best right before it’s coldest. Picking up to give away, we work very hard everyday. For the ghosts and ghouls that give us a fright, as we get ready for Halloween night.
The monsters come to every door, wondering what treats could be in store. Candy apples! Eyeball goo! Spider rings, and pumpkin seeds, too! They ponder and nibble until their feet are sore, and they find themselves at a familiar door. But once the little monsters are safe at home, the real fright fest begins to roam.
For once a year on Halloween night, the real monsters come out, all ready to bite. They gather the extra goodies and treats, and then those big ghouls all dance in the streets. They jump and jive, they sing and yell, the world comes alive as if under a spell. Then after a night so long and full of fun, light shines through the trees with the rising sun.
With bellies full and eyes all red, the monsters all go back to bed. “Say goodnight to the morning dawn” one monster says with an enormous yawn.
The excitement over, the monsters in bed, the kids wake up to think of Thanksgiving and Christmas instead!
Woolgathering 