Regardless of my social ineptitude and longing for human connection, it was a delicious (and vegan) brunch at one of my favorite places. I woke up a little sad yesterday and that sadness followed me all morning and into the afternoon. Sometimes eating a roasted apple crepe with peanut butter and drinking a sunburnt white Russian on a sunshiny day does not negate whatever emotion nags in your heart. The sadness waned though in the afternoon, thanks to a massage, some quiet time with a book at a coffee shop, and a dinner out with my parents and brother. A bipolar birthday for sure.
Sometimes on a Friday night, even when you’re tired and worn, and even when it’s late and no one else in your house is awake, you still find inspiration. You’re not sure from where, because your brain is dead and your back is sore and you’re slightly sad for no reason and way too sober. You find a poem in the nothing and that’s pretty cool.
One of these days I’m going to assemble all of the commentary I’ve written on here. I bet I’ll find many poems hidden there too amidst the blocks of unrefined text.
By the way, apparently my last post was my 500th poem. I got a notification on my phone shortly after I published it. Cheers to 501 poems on She’s in Prison. Thanks for sticking around for the journey.
It’s amazing how quickly adrenaline can zap your heartbeat and tense your stomach when instinctual fear kicks in. A single moment of anxiety can linger for hours as the body struggles to let go of that jolt of intensity. I will most likely never know what that man was doing, standing on the corner outside of my apartment building, and I will never be able to explain why I felt such innate distrust, but I am certain of one thing: his presence had a lasting impression on me. Hours later, I’m still afraid to turn off my light and slip into the impending, terror infused dreams awaiting my psyche.
Sleep well, friends.