still seem to pick the worst fights
still seem to pick the worst fights
in the same doorway as a vibe.
I’m deeply uncertain I’m holding it together. It & Everything being incomparably relative. I’m unable to trace if my adaptability has truly increased or I’ve so successfully disassociated out of the present that my function deceives the uncanny. I’m making it sound worse than it is but I’ve been fighting emptiness lately. I’m used to lacking my trail as I stroll but confusion clouds the curiosity of my destination. My predilection for fatality has vaporized into a thirst for making however long I am here whole as possible. Thus the fear of abyss.
I worry my mouth will kill me. I worry my tongue is deteriorating beyond its value. I haven’t been trusting anything I say lately. This winter has not been kind to my body. The apathy of atmospheric pressure makes my joints ache, my mood plummets. I can already tell how far past the solstice & I call this a praise report. I see the snow blanketing other places. Here’s is just the rain, steady & stereotype.
I wonder what the spring will make of my children? It’s easier to parse hope into their paths. If I’ve left myself I have remained close enough to mother. My children are a rock through this time. They draw me out of my emptiness.
There are things I’ve named, claimed, recreated & lost. There are dreams whispered that become projected on movie screens & theater stages. Even motherhood was subconsciously thrust upon me, my best self being more nurturing than my present self. I’ve played diabolical roles that fed my base ego but here I can redirect my inclination toward spiraling into fertilizing other dreams. The alchemy that surrounds my practice cannot be irreplicable.
Not for nothing, I wonder if I’ll still be in Portland “post-pandemic” or if my time here expires before “we,” as a nation, have begun addressing the crises. It’s not so important now, but I did move here with a plan. All I’ve manifested is a joyous version but none built without temporal consideration. My children will continue to grow. The nation will continue to burn. I will beautify to death. Still, I ask for what?