Free Write 517
When I’m not writing poetry I feel worthless.
And yes, I believe in Allah, especially when I am not writing,
when I am feeling worthless there is really nothing better to do in this life.
I’m not sure if that is cynical of me or not.
I am a troglodite and I am not ashamed, I am only ashamed when my need for love drags me out of my cave, away from the page and into the world.
Humanity is not so hard to navigate.
Social exchanges are not intimidating.
Everyone wants the same things essentially, love, belonging, meaning, understanding, attention, blah blah blah. We stroke each other and pur to be stroked and it goes on that way.
Heartbreak is something I will never get used to. Opening the heart is part of growing, being hurt enough to close it off, salinize that plot where feeling sprout and burning the tips of the valves are just as integral, just as necessary as falling in love in the first place.
I just want to roll with my windows down
and find the strength I need to get off drugs.
Alhamdullilah for everything.
living in new jersey sucks big time
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.
When the mind questions,
Answer it with the soul.
“Black women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see Black women. White women wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see women. White men wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and see human beings.”
— Michelle Haimoff, on privilege (via jatigi)
Food for thought.
One small piece of information.
The new poetry club with conduct under the name “Symposium”. Even though dues are unadvised, I would be willing to contribute a few bucks to sparkling cider for every week’s meeting.
Gosh, if only booze was allowed on campus.
Oh yeah, “Be there or be square” is on the flyer.