I’m not a poet- I barely know anything about poetry. I think I just write things down based on what I’m seeing or how I’m feeling and hope they sound OK. This week has been a tiring, draining one. This drained feeling, though exhausting, left me with something I hadn’t genuinely felt in a while- contentment. Even when I would slip up and forget something, or sleep a little too long, or just leave the house looking a damn mess, I’ve felt so happy. Something about being so busy must’ve emotionally detoxed me or something; I feel like I’ve learned so much about myself in such a short amount of time. Though this all might end up fleeting, right now I’m basking in it. Anyways, whenever I found myself with a spare moment this week , I tried my best to just write, even if I knew it’d end up not being too great or just being too boring. Here’s what was written on these scraps of paper from wherever–
Sliping into sleep
Dim light over few blankets
If only I could rest
–a sleepy haiku
Listening to artists I didn’t know had already passed; listening to bands I didn’t know had already broken up. This set the overall tone of the day. What else had I missed? Lack of useable coffee grounds cleared the way for me to swim through swampy exhaustion to get to my classes, and the topics we discussed were almost as heavy as my eyelids. I’m not sure how I managed to twist my ankle on the one day I chose sneakers over my regular heavy heeled shoes, but analyzing this would only make it more painful. Is the day over yet?
It reads: YOU ARE HERE
A population of one
Feels like somewhere new
–dissociating at 3pm
Her favorite color was one that was hard to reveal and even harder to imitate- it could only be found through squeezing it out of soaked rose petals (the rose, not quite dead yet, but not completely alive either.) Her favorite song was originally recorded with 11 instrumentalists, so whenever someone comes alone trying to inpress her through imitation, they were waved off as quickly as they came. Affection and attention- not too little but not too much, either.
–tales from a girl who asks for too much from the world
blathers of others
young people faking
–a plead for everyone to stop growing up faster than I am