3. not another poem
no it’s not another poem. i’ve been saving ambiguous rhymes for my inner monologue and it’s so transendance, johnny depp. i asked the angels what the meaning of the free cuplets were / are / does grammar really matter in a place like this? they said they’re lyrical training. with a serious tone. and i agreed. the truth is i’m not inspired enough for poetry. i find the medium to be quite taxingly love centered and it’s true there’s been a depravation starvation of love and kindness for at least two years and before that i haven’t a clue. i have nothing to say in delicate bubbles of prose right now. when the wordy sing-songs were flowing through me i was smoking me silly. entranced with the idea of a romance i only could imagine. as it turns out all you need is inspiration and an attractive main character, the rest is written. it’s crazy, i tell ya! making ART is CRAZY! i’ve been van goghed. not literally but metaphorically an ear was chopped off. i had eyes in the sky like microphoned satellites i could pick up on conversations i never could hear. i curse the isolation yet it was causing so much art. the one thing i’d dreamed of owning my own of since i was a little girl writing stories in the back seat of my mother’s minivan. that was all before my siblings pried the papers from my clipboard and i got scared. scared of being found out. the intimacy between the pen and i was intoxicatingly beautiful. i couldn’t put it down. either one! i was in love with the higher art that descended upon my mind and ached it’s way through my unconcious. it put me into psychosis and out of the grains of reality that trap you like seeds being handed to a begging foreigner. but that’s where art lives. outside of societal structures and the who know’s who. art is an interpretation of thoughts, feelings and emotions warped into spiraling circles of endless provocation. and i ask did it make you think? and the doctor asked but did you die? that’s what i was after. not answers but more questions for ponderous illusions. what’s the difference between delusions? oh my, another rabbit hole are you getting lost, alice? have you lost your way. i sure did. but then again, i did what i had to do when there was no one around me. free to be me and no one was gonna compromise the promise of breaking new land for me. rules and regulations no longer spewing out of me. like swindlers and spinsters. i used to let the wordy sing-songs flow like every good artist knows. how? i was making my own way since sitting down at pre-k. the kindergarten round table was dreamy too me. like flipping prints in a high school dark room, no one and no idea had the power to take my ideas away from me anymore. shots lost. i was liberated, you were trapped. caged like a lizard, licking the glass just to check its own boundaries. i walked the plank and learned to swim with my hands tied. thank you for that one. it’s who i am and what i can do. you made me a pirate. now i believe in the waves of our lives. how certain fronts wash over us then wash away from us. i’m sure handwritten riddles will arrive again, but for now they contain no land in my imagination’s inspiration. right now, i want to write through what i went through with truth. in my own way. that is the beauty of individual bodies. i will protect myself like you didn’t do. i want to sacredly share what i learned through despair. now that i’ve seen the riches of suffering and pain. i happily grieve the life well lived i no longer call home to you. maybe after all this rambling, the bolded words make a poem.