The weather’s bringing me down today. Side note: I’m also obsessed with this FOB song.
This is usually the moment I tell you to make the most of the rest of your weekend, but that would be hypocritical as I’m currently sitting on a couch in the dark basement of my parents’ house. At least I’m listening to pop punk.
Last week was rough. Here’s a hint…don’t catch stomach bugs. Luckily, I like to think of Sundays as the day to start anew. I survived Hell and now is my opportunity to bounce back. Good thing the TV lost its signal, because now I can say I started the new week with a poem.
There’s still time to accomplish something wonderful before Monday rolls around, folks. It’s up to you to figure out what it’s going to be.
This poem came out of nowhere. I was taking a walk, imagining stories in my head, and it just hit me in the face.
One of my friends lent me Ararat by Louise Gluck last week and I think it changed my life. Everything looks the same from the outside–same job, same breakfast foods–but something’s different, even if I can’t articulate exactly what that means.
I don’t usually publish poems at night. Sweet dreams and thanks for reading.
I’ve been MIA. I know it. You know it too and I owe you an explanation:
I’m currently editing a poetry book that has been a couple years in the making. It’s nearing the stage of “completion,” which I put in quotations because I’m not sure I will ever be able to say I’m 100% satisfied with my writing. Poetry is a process that takes time and evolves as we grow and change. Anyway, I’m throwing myself into the collection and sadly as a result, I’ve held my breath on here.
Posts might be sparse in the upcoming weeks as I work through the editing process and enter into the nightmare that is the publishing world. I promise I will never forget you and even in the silence, I hear you.
Thank you for your patience.
I hit repeat on the same song 9 times while working on this post last night. Every play hit me harder than the last, a compounding obsession culminated in the fact that I’m talking about it right now. Maybe it means something and maybe it doesn’t. All I know is that today is Friday.
Sometimes I talk about the days of the week because I don’t know what else to say but most of the time I talk about the days of the week because their existence seems just as important as anything else. Wow, it’s Friday. Find a song you love and listen to it 9 times in a row.
I don’t often distinguish between my poems that are based on real experience or straight up fiction. However, I feel compelled to admit that this one is utterly non-fiction. I treated myself to a tea at this great coffee shop that’s quickly becoming my go-to place for a cup-o-joe, and the next thing I knew I’d written this poem.
Cheers to Picasso’s in good ol’ St. Charles and cheers to Wednesdays.
Sunday morning coffee is one of my favorite things. It’s the poetry of a survived Saturday night. It’s the pause of appreciation for the privilege of indulgence. Most of all, it’s just delicious. I hope you were enjoying a cup of coffee while reading this. After all, poetry and coffee are bred to coexist. Cheers to the week ahead!