"I've got a terrible secret"
The Famous One From Hamlet

(April 21: Write a continuation or response to a famous poem)

I see what you see,

changing nothing,

but moving around enough,

to wear myself out.

I’ve never felt this specific mix,

of wanting to do nothing,

and being bored by everything.

No one tells you life is not art,

art is a reaction to being alive.

Just being used to fascinate me,

being on your own never came up though.

(April 20: Post a favorite poem of someone you don’t know (famous, or otherwise); explain why)

broken wings, taught
spread and splat
against the asphalt

it’s my fault!

(by Cody Weber, Saturninefilms)

Cramming an entire story in a few lines is difficult to get right. Cody Weber is someone I look up to artistically. He is fantastic at photography, poetry and music. That’s what I want. Right now, I like to think I’m okay at one of those. I’ve been following his Tumblr for a number of years now, and it’s interesting to see his evolution as an artist. Comparing it to mine, which is probably not the smartest things to do, but he’s one of the people who makes me want to be an artist. Whenever I’m in an art slump, I’ll just look at his photos or videos and am immediately inspired again. One of the few people I still look up to artistically.

Namesake (Originally Written 1/11/14)

(April 19: Post a favorite poem of your own; explain why)

I act as each character,

in the play,

I get angry at myself,

then apologize for what I’d say,

protest at my own door,

in hopes of changing his mind,

which is mine.

 The reason I like “Namesake” is because its short and true. I feel like I have two people in my head. The one protesting and the one saying things worthy of being protested. I can’t get rid of either. They both make a compelling argument for or against myself. I can’t be looser with the rules on myself, while I am the most strict on myself. I know I should be doing something, and I’m not doing it, so I punish myself by just not doing it. A backwards way of thinking. Then nothing gets done. It’s just a loop. Over and over and over.

Circles

(April 18: Write a poem where the first word in each line repeats itself)

Until I repeat the same things,

until I think this is what I need,

until some day I fall asleep,

until I try one of everything,

until this seems to be replaced,

until today becomes a name,

until this becomes all the same.

What’s Left (Written on 8/22/12)

(April 17: Post a poem from when you were an amateur, no matter how silly it may seem)

We walk around,

ignoring it all,

and turn a blind eye,

to watching us fall.

and when you have no escape,

what do you do,

because its the last thing we have,

to keep me from going insane.

That’s It, Nothing

(April 16: Write a couplet)

sometimes I think about dreams and new things,

but right now, I feel like I’ve thought all of my everythings.

Background Information

(April 15: Write/create concrete poetry)

When feelings

               feel new,

I might

                          what              to               do,

           know

                                                        five,

                       I’ll have

one day

I

      got

               a

                     little

                                 More Time.

Sleeping Intersection

(April 14: Write a tanka)

Walking on the ground,

understanding a new way,

ways to keep this up,

not wanting to hide again,

a sleeping intersection.

Sunlight Everyday, Alright

(April 13: Write a terza rima)

Sunlight seems too bright,

facing outside my door,

simple solutions, without light.

Everything on a small floor,

I’ll change this one day,

just waiting for a little more.

Someone everyday likes to say,

walking easy, making solutions,

fading from color to a new grey.

unsure if time is just pollution,

though it never made a complete circle,

round and round in confusion.

Nighttime Neverending

(April 12: Write a quatrain (AABB)

Walking can’t seem to form answers,

but for years this practice has standards,

and sometimes these things take too much time,

and you are left with everything clean covered in grime.

Standstills

(April 11: Write a monorhyming poem)

Seeing things coming from everywhere,

trying to find the idea that they are right there,

completely uncertain, living on a dare,

with no time frame, questioning caring,

but standstills form dirt in your body hair,

even after years of cleansing, no soap could tear,

a lining impossibly strong, back to living bare.

The Air Around Everything

(April 10 - Write an epitaph)

Things started falling, not sure what direction,

it’s hard to see these things as corrections,

when the story is blurry,

and time sped up too early,

but these things take time,

and these stories are best told directly,

to avoid other meaning,

and that’s the way your eyes were always seeing,

but we saw it as storytelling,

but you told the truth,

and sometimes only you know what is the best thing for you.

Missing Something, Though I Know Where To Find It

(April 9 - Write an acrostic poem)

Something down, not sure if it started,

Understood, but still parted,

Paper hands soaked in gasoline,

Everything under bright lights,

Ready to see myself through brown eyes.

A Limerick About Birds

(April 8: Write a limerick) (Wikipedia tells me a limerick is supposed to be nonsense, so I made some no-sense.)

I saw a bird fly over my head,

and was only able to see the tip of its head,

then I looked down,

and saw on the ground,

a thousand birds eating bread.

Things That Don’t Help, But Need To Stay

(April 7 - Write prose)

I feel like certain days, especially ones that repeat a specific act, have feelings. Somehow, the way the light flows through the windows or how much sun is specifically going through the clouds can change in very minimal ways. For example, a few friends and I will go out on Fridays. We’ll usually go to a record store or bowling, just an excuse to get out of the house and talk. The one thing that remains constant is we always go to Denny’s, which usually signals the end, or more recently the start, of the night. By the time I get home, this blanket of depression seems to sneak up every time.

I’m not too sure why. The only idea I could find is its a bad fade back into “normal” life. Most of my days are spent at home. Going out with my friends is usually the only time I will be out of the house every week. I also think its why I have so much anxiety. If I was outside, taking to people and purchasing products, I wouldn’t think being on a second story floor is an “issue.” 

I’m working on it. When I say that, I mean I’m thinking about it. Most of my problems stem from my own brain, so that’s where I’ll fix them, I think. It makes sense. I just feel like I’m on the edge of adulthood and I have better balance that I thought. When I think about it, its embarrassing. I don’t have a job, but I don’t need one yet. I don’t have bills or something I need to support. I think getting a job could be the catalyst for me being better.

I want to enjoy not having a real voice yet. I mean my voice in creativity. I feel like that’s what works. I never had the Marine Biology gene. What I do works. I’m just trying on my influences, as they say. I’m generally creative, thought I hate the word “creative.” It assumes too much. Like a faucet, you can turn that sucker on and boom, you have a new album or book or poem. A lot of the work is in my head, thinking about all the negatives and hoping I didn’t lift a line from something else. Maybe if I get a job, I’ll stop worrying so much, or I may be too tired to do anything at the end of the day. I procrastinate enough as it is having nothing to do. Imagine if I did. I’m emotionally drained, so I’ll go for the usual sleep in too late and get nothing done, for now anyway.