I never wanted to be the kind of poet that writes about being sad- or about being unlucky in love. I never wanted to be the kind of artist who helped to romanticise the things that are difficult enough, on their own, to escape.
Oh, the magic I used to chase only to be able to put in down on paper later. Glowing oceans and turbulent seas, healthy friendships and self love. Those where the things I sought too romanticise.
But now the magic has run out and all that’s left to do is keep writing.
The city was flooded in a poisonous orange sunset and smog, as we drove through its skyline.
It made me think of Bladerunner. I dont know what Jr thought, but I know he was in unsettled awe.
.
Warm bulbs light up our conversations on the cozy roof deck of the beach front apartment.
Jr’s cold and hostile numbers, about what tragedies await us, hang in the air like orange smog.
A new dog appears on the windy beach. He’s male. He’s wearing a red collar. He doesn’t notice Shifty and Tequi downwind. They smelled him ages ago and are sitting side by side, watching him. Frankie couldn’t be bothered because she’s chasing crabs.
The new dog turns his head and spots our pack. Frankie, who has wondered upwind in her search for crabs is closet to red collar but he pays her little attention and she continues to not be part of the drama.
Tequi is standing now, her strong posture making up for her little hight. Shifty moves a couple of paces forward and sits down again.
Red collar starts to approach. All six ears are on high alert. Noses frantically sniffing.
He’s closing in. Shifty starts sprinting. Tequi follows suite. Faces, butts and paw prints are sniffed. Its a friend! Play time! That’s got Frankies attention.
I took my book to the lonely hammock for some peace and avoidance.
Sun dribbled thought the gaps in the leaves above as I sunk into that other world.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I glanced the person I least wished to see.
Surely he would see my book, surely he would see my all aloneness and understand.
That hope faded as he approached some more but I kept my face buried.
Still he spoke. I sighedand mustered a one word replying, never even glancing upward.
I was expecting that to be it. Unpleasant but finally over. I was wrong.
He kept talking and I kept not replying but the other world of my book slipped away.
“You know bleach and dye
Will make your hair go dry?
You’re roots are damaged,
You’re tips are dead,”
The self indulgent smoker said.
After I turn of the fourth alarm of the morning- I’d set the other alarms long ago, in an attempt to wake up earlier- I notice that my body feels heavier than usual. Strange considering I’ve been loosing weight despite my desperate efforts to eat more.
I try to sit up, but my ever shrinking muscles can’t lift me so instead I check my phone. First my social media. That reminds me that I have some writing I need to do, writing I was exited about a couple of days ago, so why does my body feel even heavier? Thinking about it and knowing I probably won’t do it today makes my stomach hurt, so I close whichever sinkhole I’m mindlessly scrolling though and open a game I saw and add for a couple of weeks ago. It’s entirely pointless. I’ve been cycling thought the same 5ish mazes so often that the illusion of progress has long faded.
Beside me, my man starts to stir. He opens his eyes, gives my leg a squeeze and then picks up his own phone. After he’s had a chance to shake of sleep completely he asks me if I’m going to work on that thing I told him I’d do for him. As he does some invisible force wraps a long thick cord around my body, like a python wrapped around its pray, and ties me to the bed. I tell him I’m probably won’t.
A little more time passes when I check the time. In an instant I’m up. It’s an entire hour later then when I usually feed my dog. She must be getting hungry.
What an unfortunate relief
When he told me
That he had eco anxiety too.
.
Now he would help me
Push that rock
Up the hill.
.
How do I tell him
What’s going to happen
When we reach the top?
I want to dive
Into the depth
Of your mind,
.
Find the dreams
That hide behind
The corrals in the reef
of your imagination,
.
Glimpse the fears
That swim so deep
That they never
See the surface.
.
I’l like to go again
In the dead of night,
Switch my light off,
And see all the things
That only glow
In the dark
The words pour from your mouth like a waterfall,
No matter the topic, no matter the audience.
A professor, you lecture. You’re classroom’s the world.
How lucky must I be then, to have the ability
To render you speechless with talk of ‘us’.
I can not promise romance
Whenever you’re with me,
But I assure adventure,
And inconsistency.
Eye bags aside,
I’m quite pretty when I’m sad:
.
Colourful peasant skirt
And bare feet
Walking the dogs
On the beach.
There may as well
Be a Lana del Ray song
On in the background.
.
They fetishised my misery,
Packaged it up
And sold it to the masses.
.
Why strive for happy
When sad is pretty too?
Writing Things Better 