I’m behind on my national poetry month posts, and every other kind of writing. So here’s day 17. Maybe I’ll catch up. Writing difficulty: it does not feel natural as it once did. The words– come haltingly as I over think and decide what words are worth putting down. But before I can choose what’s…… Continue reading writing–National Poetry Month Day 17
Badass bitch who doesn’t give enough fucks to be basic. That’s who I am, right? Sometimes I really don’t know. It’s a thin persona, because– Well, because I do care. To a painful degree. But being passionate leads to– unique–ways of expressing myself. And it’s not actually persona, after all. It’s me.
memories against my bidding arise, fleeting– quick, I grasp at them.
raindrops fall outside my window, inviting my fingers to tap along the keys in contradictory rhythm.
Drafts in the dropbox. Downloading files and more files. The portfolios. Selecting music, stretching fingers to prepare. Commenting, guiding.
A Facebook quiz told me I am Ophelia. Ouch. Ophelia? Why not sharp-witted Beatrice who fell for Benedick, a man who could handle, well, her. Or, if I have to be in the maudlin and mad category, couldn’t the quiz have awarded me Lady Macbeth? Cruel, ruthless, yes, but determined nonetheless. But Ophelia? It felt like a…… Continue reading Ophelia –National Poetry Month Day 12
I don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s a sentence that slips past his lips, as an explanation. A justification. He says it’s logic–rationality, but– I call bullshit. Fear drives these decisions, uncertainty guides our choices. Two paths–like that Robert Frost poem– that, despite appearances, are both choked with weeds, branches snagging and scratching at…… Continue reading Ambiguity–National Poetry Month Day 11
Listening to Thao’s “Meticulous Bird”: is its tale love or vengeance?
irritated with the feel of skin over joints Weary of myself.
the gurgling hiss and sputter of coffee pot promise revival.