What if my writing is only fueled by pain, depression, and fear? As I get better at dealing with my depression, I may lose the red eye who cast everything in such a terrific color. Why am I worried about this? I didn’t write a poem yesterday. I can’t write one right now. I must be overreacting. Look, see, I’m writing at this moment. Oh listen, there’s insecurity knocking!
4 Reasons Why to Go to Work
- Future me will have less work
- I’ll distract myself from this mental masturbation
I’m not proud of what I do. I want to tell people I’m a writer and let that be the dialogue that is “Andrea.” Gosh, things were so good and how they’ve somehow changed. Am I just making up reasons to be sad? Am I being dramatic?
Okay, game plan-hip hop music, get dressed, pack lunch, get outside before I change my mind.
I can be a great writer
I feel it banging on the door of my skull
Trying to get down here to the tip of my pen
But goddamn when I really want it
It bars the door with a two-by-four and
All the begging won’t make ‘em come out
You know what brats like most?
Snacks-Like articles poems YouTube videos and podcasts
You know distractions
A release of self-contained pressure
hot and cold
chill and wavy
smiles come easier
so do tears
so does a wet wet and
wanting to hump the seat your ass is on
I keep telling myself I want to drink less
I keep pouring myself one more
it’s hard to cry when you don’t have a good excuse
life is a good excuse
alcohol is a better one
I don’t let it get out of hand
I have bills to pay and a responsible life to live
letting loose makes the ride a bit more exciting
compared to the drone of the nine-to-five
bumper-to-bumper sucky-fucky of the week
you know its true
so what if you get blackout drunk?
that’s what Gatorade and carbs are for
god, just feel it for once
let the water take you under and
feel the pulsing heart of the universe
I’ve felt it, its scary as fuck until you realize
the banging at the door is in your chest
it’s about you
look at yourself
who are you?
at the very least, you’re a beating heart
that’s a goddamn blessing
hug yourself and get drunk in the wave
One of my succulents didn’t bloom this year and I keep thinking about what I did wrong. Not about how the fickle weather, being migrated to a new pot with 6 other plants, or its life cycle effect the likelihood of a bloom.
But it was so close I could have just yanked the closed flower bud out of it and spread it butterfly with tweezers.
Alas, it was not meant to be.
I watered it on schedule, even a little less than necessary, to make sure I didn’t rot the roots.
I know nature does it own thing but it hard when you want something so much and you put so much mental energy into it and visualize what it’ll look like when it blooms, and how happy it will make you feel and taking pics and showing literally everyone you know like its your kid.
It is. They all are. Including the aloe in the kitchen. They are all the life I have in my apartment besides me. They are my best friends and they always have my back.
It isn’t about them. It’s about me.