Poems · writing

Write My Poetry

Fear of failure I’m close to giving up

Untethered froM reality

The vowels they compound and we—

I’m lost when I’ve fallen into you

Authenticity,

Your electricity

You enrage and enlighten me

Frightening prospects and the sound of your name

Risking a cliche I’m too afraid to say it casts lightning

All the same.

Drunk on my inhibitions,

These admissions,

They’d never let me in.

My ticket was stamped for yesterday and there is no way to see the show, now.

Did I mention feeling exposed? Yes.

Surviving on instinct,

I’m sure I’m meant to act this way, why not?

Who can ever tell, anyway, between what’s real,

What is blocked.

Configurations.

I’ll wait for the circus to come to town

Write to me then, when the madness comes back around


I’ve been a little disjointed lately, and I’m sure this reflects that. Doesn’t that suck? When you feel like you’ve got a grip on yourself and your brain goes “hahahaha nope. You’ve gotta do it again.”? Oh well. It’s fiiiine! It’s fine. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Poems · writing

Do You Find It Alright?

How did I get here

How do I know

Which way is up

When will I…

I’m temperate I’ll have you believe.

You hack at me, start it off

One two three four

Who is knocking at my door

Temporal, always, yes.

Buried deep in my chest

Gently tugging,

Whispering

“Have we made it yet?”

Don’t do that here.

Five six seven eight

Resistance, entreat me. They can’t be late

Interesting, be too full.

Every feat, every way, every turn. Undeveloped.

In the morning I’m silver

You’re always light blue

Why do I move. Why do I move

Finish without me I can’t take the cost

Nine ten

Late again.

Shut me off


Been doing homework all day, so here’s one circa January 12, 2018 at 5:39pm. (I like knowing the time. Frames it better for some reason. Better guess at my mindset for weird shit like this)

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

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.

writing

Learning To Sew

The hole in my jeans is something that bothers me but I don’t do much about.

Is it better to mourn their inevitable loss, or to try and fix something that’s broken, possibly ruining it further in the process?

Something that’s “irreparable”. I think, and so it remains. The same tear for a year or more.

Acquire a new skill, or lose what could have been saved.

writing

A Letter To Myself

Or, more accurately, a series of post-it notes I wrote to myself while in a self doubting spot at work. I want to be a writer. I’m going to be a writer. I am a writer. I am enough.

You have not gone far enough to give up. You haven’t dug your heels into concrete. Your shoes are still intact, you haven’t drawn blood. You have not reached a point to shrug your shoulders and say “well, I tried”.

You have yet to feel the satisfaction of a project moved to completion, you don’t know what it’s like. You want it, but will you fight?

You assume you have reached a place where things cannot possibly get worse. You’re wrong, and they can, but things can get better, too. That’s all up to you.

Now go put books away, dummy. You’re fine.

Poems · writing

Darkening

Lately feeling like a mistake

Sometimes unsure of how much I can take

How far I will go.

Dwelling on negativity, an activity that is completely exhausting to me.

And yet I’ve been asking myself: was I just another fantasy

To you?

Ever since you were acquitted

I’ve admitted to every single fallacy

All my overreactions, the stifling contingency

 My ability to stir up the dust, rub lemons into cuts, and make accusations that make no sense to anyone,

Let alone me.

I see things, too late now, that were wrong about me

That are wrong about me.

That’s not to say that you are perfect in comparison,

But no one deserves and no one should ever try to fix another person.

Now with the curtains closed and coffins shut, someone nearby singing the Final Cut,

I again struggle to stand on wavering feet

Looking out to the long road ahead of me. Well,

At least I finally have a clear path, somehow.