At 14:22
I make myself tea
from some of the leaves
I’ve managed to keep dry
between the pages of a book
I wrap a blanket
around my legs
and I sit down
in my ergonomically friendly chair
to write
Little did I know
that turning the shape of my torso
into the letter “S''
would have such an impact
At the present moment
I’m a firm believer
of keeping a position
where your head is straight,
your eyes are focused,
and your jaw is relaxed
You know
whenever my jaw is clenched
I’m reminded
I’m trying too hard,
including being too forceful
with these routines
That can really make me feel
like an extra
in my own life
Sometimes I just feel
secondary to the plot
That I’m the kind of person
who resides in the peripheries
of any bystander’s
attention span
Actors,
they’re not there
to merely mimic
natural expression
and plausible scenarios
they act to create tension,
to tie a thin rope down your throat,
and gently pull up your intestines
one by one to lay them out
on display for you
But recently
I’ve come to learn
that I am necessary
to a greater plot
At 14:30
I start my writing session,
just like a pianist
who dexterously spends hours
warming up her fingers
through repeating scales
and memorizing the work
of other composers,
computing apprehension to detail
I’ve learned that
14.30 is the exact time
when I’m well able
to veer into my own work
In my writings
I like to revisit places
and situations
In the past year
these places have become more
tantalizing
They’ve been coated
with a pungent flavor
hard to really place my finger on
I know
that the voice
speaking to me
is leading me through
imaginary landscapes
for a purpose
that is not mine
The memories aren’t mine
but I lend her stories
from my life
There is not much conversation
between us,
it’s an intuitive act
and therefore it’s crucial
that I start at the exact same hour
every day,
one that I’ve come to know
as a playful and light hour
I’m unsure whether her place
really exists on this earth,
but it feels very familiar
She feels familiar
It feels too easy to say
that I feel like we know each other
“from a past life”
but I say it anyway
I find comfort
in documenting her version
of a life
One day she tells me;
Sometimes I see signs
of the start of a new season;
a lonesome migratory bird
that’s soon joined by its swarm,
a brief sun ray
that initiates the melting of the frost
that’s settled on all surfaces detectable,
or the freshly green head
of a wood-anemone
soon to pop open
to free its white flower
These moments
are normally passageways
to a different season’s beginning,
these are in usual cases
the events that crack
the surface of the ice open,
resulting in a spider web like pattern
But the temperature stays the same
and the sun stays in its same position,
with its transition to darkness
at 14:22 every day
By this time I’ve already been awake
for more than eight hours,
a full work day for some
It’s unimportant
how I spend these hours,
it really differs,
but all I can tell
is that the cold keeps me
preoccupied
I like being outside
when it’s still daylight
I don’t live
in a barn or anything,
nor do I have my own garden,
but I enjoy the public parks
that are within walking distance
from my flat
The little greens cheer me up
in so many ways
Whenever I feel alone
it does the trick
to just wander around,
pretty cluelessly
Just like a freshly brewed
cup of coffee
it removes that thin visor
from my vision,
that sometimes has made me feel
like an astronaut
on planet earth
After some loops around the park area
I seek out a bench
and close my eyes
to pretend it’s spring
Spring in the city
Her head is gently bent down
as she reads through
the last edition of stories
It’s read off a tablet
tied to her hand
by some weave
Sometimes little mechanical butterflies
arrive at her hand,
settle for a moment,
held up by their
metal-like structures
She looks at them the stern way
a dog owner looks at their dog
as the dog lets out its uninhabited side
for a minute
with a mixture of discipline
and fascination
Sometimes they stay for a moment,
flutter their emerald coloured wings,
eyes open, eyes close,
they mimic looking,
like looking at the world
and then closing your eyes again,
thinking it will look different
next time your eyes open
When I was a child
my mother lived
just by the edge of our country
After the edge there was water,
and on very clear days,
a silhouette of something
past the horizon
could be seen
We gave it cryptic names
Turned it into a kingdom
of dysfunctional
royal family members
In our shared fabrications
the royal family were fantastical,
crooked beings, they wore
rag-like clothes,
really ill-fitting cycling shorts
and moth-eaten t-shirts
Their make-up couldn’t stick
to their face
so an eye shadow would easily
become a tear
North of our house
were ice sheets
that formed their own
sovereignty
<3 - 2023-12-29 13:36:28 - <3<333333
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:33 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:25 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:09 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:08 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:06 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:05 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:03 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:55:57 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
- 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:13 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:12 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:11 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:03 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:45 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:44 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:43 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:42 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:40 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:38 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:21 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:19 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:17 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:15 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:13 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:08 -
E - 2022-04-11 00:22:06 - so beautiful
- 2022-04-11 00:21:49 -
- 2022-04-11 00:20:38 -
*_* - 2022-03-31 12:01:05 - I love it!!