how much time have I wasted not really saying the thing I want to say?
or is it all just “part of the process”
in the morning i wonder
how i can be such a genius
and such an idiot
at the same time!
i know that i know that i know there’s a fire inside that may
be temporarily bewildered and confused
but will find its way again.
i value ambiguity, gray, inbetween-ness
but i’m also sick of it.
i appreciated the sun
i appreciated its clarity. it was here. no hint of a chill until sundown
i am feeling
i’m having trouble naming
and so it’s easy to point at the wrong thing. blame the wrong thing. like
the people who do nothing but love you
myself myself myself.
but then i haven’t moved.
and i’m over it.
i’m ready to move.
i’m ready to be done with this
i’m ready to thrive.
May I please thrive now?
“The other nations who are not witnesses…they cannot know. Unfathomable the words, the terminology: …atrocities…destruction[, earthquakes]. They exist only in the larger perception of History’s recording…Not physical enough. Not to the very flesh and bone, to the core, to the mark, to the point where necessary to intervene…
To the others, these accounts are about (one more) distant land, like (any other) distant land, without any discernible features in the narrative, (all the same) distant like any other.
but does it move you to poetry?