No more volumes
There is no reason for me to turn the page and put the sword in the stone
Ideas lane in my brain but are breathed out my nostrils
Never to be thought of again
Even though they might succeed in bringing me out of writer illness
These ideas germinate in the thick, cracked skin of my foot and organize themselves into a hierarchy but I can only spot the inferior ones
That sex makes me lonelier and I stare at the water beneath my legs
I have not given up on my novel but it's still shelved
Feelings come before ideas
But feelings are so useless
They do not come in sentences
They are not given testimonials: "such a tender story" "it builds and builds, perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn"
Coasting on a raft that gets bigger and bigger is this war. Am I unlovable or do I live in an unlovable age?
When you reject someone in your heart but they reject you in real life
It hurts and the hurt is useless
It is not "a choke hold worse than rope" or "burning cuts that saw her insiders"
Simply put, feelings are the reason you stay in the shower longer and stare at your pubes
Not why you create art
YOU ARE READING
Dizzy
ŞiirA tender, honest and fierce portrayal of who I am as an artist. Some of this stuff was shared in my poetry club some stuff wasn't. Enjoy this??? And laugh too.
