Friends who are family is all I’ve ever wanted
They slot into my soul like puzzle pieces
Energistic connection which makes everything feel
…
All right
The last 2 years have been harder than I thought would be possible
Harder especially since my family
The family I chose
Had been breaking apart
I lost two people to just life and distance and time
We are droplets running like a river
Believing us to be strong
Till one thing
And another
Drive the point home
We weren’t a river
Just drops
Held loose in a semicrystalline state
Always destined to break apart
I thought my years of isolated broken would serve as a deterrent to heartbreak
But it turns out that once you are healed enough
Those wounds are no longer haunting
Nor familiar
The carve in
Old sites long scarred
Past by in favor of fresh flesh
I’ve built this network of people I love
And as the pandemic drags on and on
I realize that the illusion of self
Is just that
Without my family of choice
I am diminished
And nothing can take the place of the pack
#pandemic
Too tired to die, too awake to sleep
Doomscrolling is the death of creativity.
It sucks me in. And with my tastes there are a ton of poets saying poet things. And rather than inspired, I feel like I’m not going to be able to write. Because they wrote it better. Their personal journeys. Their blood on the page.
My lukewarm days. My pedantic pedal boat. Moving slowly into the certain uncertain.
I’ve bled and cried. Burned and created. But here I am, a product of doomscrolling and too many days stuck without the people who make life good.
I gave up caffeine. More to do it than for any health benefit. Haven’t seen one 3 months in, to be frank.
My cats receive my attention. For both I am either never enough or always too much. And if that isn’t the echo of all my relationships, I don’t know what is.
My problems are small. Even if they are insurmountable. I have shelter, food, and safety.
What I find I have less and less of, is hope.
I used to believe in the undelible goodness of humanity. That when push came to shove, humanity would choose the brighter path. I can’t believe that anymore.
The trump years proved the overall despicable traits which simmer beneath the surface. And the now times have so far proved that this isn’t going to change.
I know that when things advance, there is a backlash. But this backlash is like a flywheel. By the time it stops, our wounds will be so grievous we will either fall or fury. And everything I’ve seen points to fall.
I feel like I’m spinning my wheels. But I know this world. And I don’t have the means to switch tracks.
No spoons, no funds. Just the endless parade of days. Wishing it were otherwise.
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When you love physics but hate math
My creativity feels like a stream of photons being scattershot through a pinhole. Hoping to magically land against photosensitive paper and thus become known.
To leap full formed like Athena from the head of Cronus.
But this pandemic and the life that has been forced on us because of it, bends away the light.
A black hole forcing away a mind used to the sounds of a raging river. Changing to the low hum of the background count.
And each day is a question. Is the cat alive or dead?
Will today be one which makes light?
Or simply a burden which necessitates the digging of a grave.
This slow spin down
Wondering when again I will wander in a direction strange.
Pelgris 