The world is made of string, / all held together, tangled, tripping / though resting on quantum foam
Wood smoke cannot be contained, / though persuaded to linger / in the slope of your shoulder
I fell from a dock in the summer / split my hand open like a ripened fig
She never told me, but I knew the way she slept in mango trees
As I struggle with yet another pressure migraine, I think fondly (okay, no so fondly) on the scarce few mornings in which I have woken up hungover already praying for death. So, please enjoy this completely silly poem about being young, drunk, and not knowing what the hell a glass of water is.
I felt a pinch in my palm: a rosebud sprouted from my life line.
Life has been pretty rough for me as of late. I’ve been through the wringer, and I’m just trying to keep my shit together long enough to grow as a person. Thank God for poetry, even if this poetry isn’t any good.
With so much time on my hands these days, I reflect a lot. A year ago, I met a young girl who was on the verge of tears every time I saw her. She suffered from intense anxiety, but made herself come to the summer camp where I worked every day for two weeks because she loved writing so much. She was, and continues to be, an inspiration.
I've been fiddling around with poetry a lot more these days because, for me, it's a lot easier to write a poem and express myself than it is to write a story or in a journal. Over the next few weeks I imagine I'll be producing quite a bit of it. Thanks in advance for reading!
So, I've been rocking this whole 9-5 thing for a whole three days now. I gotta say, while it is soul crushing, there are some serious opportunities for poetry. Here's a little bit of found poetry I've thrown together from listening to people in the break room and random pieces of beauty in an otherwise dull space. I hope that doesn't come across as too...I don't know, bougie? I really am just trying to keep my shit together.