...help?

 

Is this considered baiting? I think it's baiting. I probably ought to be sorry.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cat. Why.

 I don't think this is a poem.  And I'm pretending that the accidental rhyming doesn't bother me.  And that I don't feel like I need to go back and make the whole thing rhyme now.

How's everybody else's day going?  Anybody know how to get a cat off a roof?  Do I need to put on a poodle skirt and petticoat, pick up my heavyass handset landline phone and call some firemen from 1952?  Is that a thing?

~•fate•~

 

This went in a completely different direction than I was expecting, but, um....yeah. 😐🤷

Inspired by the @antipoetic.revolution phrase prompt:

"Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well." 

–Sylvia Plath

•freak•

 

Fun fact:  That brain line? It came straight from a conversation with my therapist. And I have been dying to use it in something 🤷😂

📷: canva

•block•

 

The writer is blocked. The writer decides to write about being blocked. The writer's brain does not enjoy having it's hand forced and retaliates. Where do we go from here?

(Honest to gods, I'm fine.  I'm just having a strange week.  Can I blame the continuing proximity to xmas?  I'm going to, regardless of how you answer, FYI.)

christmas tree lights

 

I'm not saying  that all this holiday cheer has made me lose my mind. 

But I'm also not not saying that.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

•merry and bright and hungry•

So, funny story...when my dad died several years back, I was sick as hell. Worst case of flu I had ever had. I couldn't cry. Because if I even got the least little bit teary, I literally couldn't breathe. And with my family, well, gallows humor is definitely not off the table. Were we at one point sitting in the car in the funeral home parking lot cracking jokes about necromancy?  Maybe. And if that did happen has it become a kinda fucked up running Zombie Dad narrative in the years since? Yeah, seems reasonable.

Merry Xmas & Season's Eatings Y'all 😉😈😏

click for bonus spoken word version

 

giving in to compulsion

 

I spent a lot of the day yesterday thinking that I probably ought to just stop posting, stop writing, just stop, until at least after the holidays. This isolated existence and the chaos in my brain don't mesh well with how December makes me feel.  ....I don't know how to end this comment, caption, thing, because I'm incredibly conflicted and writing this piece definitely did not help. Good idea, bad idea, no ideas, idk.

•affinity•

 

The poet is aware that "awkwardest" is not a word.  She mostly does not care.  She is also aware that only being able to refer to herself as a poet while speaking in the semi-loathed third person is something of An Issue.  (I'm working on it.  .....okay I'm actually not, but it's on the Self-Improvement list, I swear).

uhoh

hmm..

moar words?

When you realize you've accidentally done the first two days of a challenge without meaning to.  Albeit in sort of the wrong way...

Equinox

digging one hand

fingers deep 

down 

past soil

anchored in bedrock

trying not to shift

fault lines

other reaching

grasping for sky

I'll be your

p e n d u l u m

if you'll just

let me balance

giving in to my brain's demands

Confession:  I don't always follow my own rules.  Case in point, writing things in my head doesn't get them anywhere else.  (Yes, I did just link an old as fuck post that happened to be my first entry here.)

I've been in a garbage headspace lately.  Super surprising, I know 🙄  But I have been writing.  Thing is, it seems my brain is only interested on writing halfass notes on things I want/need to write, but is fully here for poetry.

As part of my brain's ransom demands I was forced to start a new instagram account (mostly) focusing in this...poem writing endeavor...thing.

Which I promptly ran away from. Again, I know you're just shocked at that behavior.

Honestly, though, fuck it.  If it makes my brain quit yammering at me, maybe it'll also send a little dopamine and serotonin my way.  I could definitely use it.

A Treatise on Abandoned Things

I've always been drawn to items seemingly forgotten, left behind.  Old houses empty of all but ghosts, fallen trees, cemeteries left to crumble at their leisure.  Scraps of paper with a quote that feels profound, or just one fascinating word waiting to dance across your tongue.

I love the idea of leaving random things for someone else to find, or to be the person that happens upon a strange keepsake.  I keep a jar specifically for collecting the feathers that visitors to my backyard leave behind, and my house would not be complete without the numerous rocks and sticks that have found their way into my possession.

Stories on things other people have stumbled into have always fascinated me.  Whether you’ve found an actual family heirloom, just a spangley rock and lovely patch of moss, or even one odd skein of handspun yarn that has too little yardage for anything productive, but is treasured nonetheless.  Whatever it is, I’m interested in hearing about it.

Found objects being what they are, it always amuses me how people will talk of "finding Jesus" (the phrasing, not the sentiment) and I will absolutely jump in with how I once found Ra* in the walmart parking lot.

I'm definitely a "find-a-penny-pick-it-up" sort of person, though I do not know about what luck might follow.  I've never been afraid of a found object**, so I can't understand why I've been so intimidated by something so simple as an abandoned blog.

A while back when I got to the end of my latest paper journal I made the conscious decision to not begin another.  In some ways that was freeing, because it had gotten to the point where it was obligation rather than a facilitator of growth (after all, there are only so many times you can re-hash the same frustrating situation without driving yourself insane).

But I've come around to the idea that, maybe, that was the wrong choice.  I keep thinking I don't say anything--here, in person, on my fb page--because I don't have anything TO say.  And in some ways that is true.

But I still have all these words tumbling around in my mind.

I've written so many posts here over the past year.....in my head.  So many things I did and didn't want to say.  I don't know where to, or if I should, start.

I still don't know where I want to go with this blog.  I never have.  But I think it's time for it to stop being an Abandoned Thing.  Time for me to notice that glint and glimmer, to dust off the shiny, and pick it up.

 

 

*True story.  Granted, it was almost assuredly the letters somehow removed from a Dodge Ram, but it was really sunny that day, sooo.....

**Though I do very much use my own intuition and common sense over whether or not it is right to pocket the item in question.