Creative Curse

I’ve been hit with a creative curse
My bones disperse throughout my body singing harmonies
My eyes shed watercolors when I cry
It seems my soul is too big for my body,
Flowing out of my finger tips like ink
Casting shadows over what seems to be impossible to reach

It’s implausible to try and stop my growth
I’m a lit wick
A burning flame
I’m the smoke circling in front of you when you attempt to smother me
I will light you up with acrylics and lick your remains with paintbrush tips
I’ll hit you harder than ceramics
Contorting your shallow-bowled dreams

I’ve been given this creative curse
Causing me to see meaning in stubbed toes and cigarette butts
Dreaming of open road horizons and bill-less mail
You’re stuck
I have hot glue oozing from my palms
Mod Podge is stuck to my core
I adore your ability to ignore indecency but that’s not me
I feel everything
I see flaws in sidewalk cracks and praise them for going against the rest of the road
Maybe I’m stopped…
And standing…
But my thoughts never idle
There are reasons around every question-
Answers in your ever avoidance

With a mind of an artist,
A heart of inspiration,
And hands as tools
I wire-wrap my arms around admiration and squeeze it to it’s death
Moderation is not a part of me
My dreams are cast with really big frequencies
But it seems to be I resonate hallow in your chest
I used to stress about it
Until I realized echoes only come when there is empty space

If I cannot help fill you
I do not want to feel you
Made to create, yeah, but I am not your creator
The silence in your sunken chest is not enough for me
What does your silence mean?
How do you have the ability to not think?
To not speak?
My mountainous mind does not understand your serene valleys
Where are your avalanches?
When do you crumble?
What makes you break?
Everyone
Can break

Good thing these fingers are laced with duct tape
Good thing it’s not too late for me to show my colors in the street as it rains
Maybe I’m more rainbow than you because
I’ve been hit with this creative curse
Which is something you do not know
So I have got to go overflow into someone else who understands this twisted blessing or else this curse will create my death and
I’ve got far too much creativity left

black and white acrylic

black and white acrylic

Hiraeth

In August I made the move from Mt. Pleasant, Michigan to Lansing, Michigan. I left a lot behind and gained even more with this move. I’ve settled in, and since writing this I’ve become content with where I sit, what I’m doing, and where I’m going. It’s a journey that seemed somewhat defeating at the time, but rest assured, I’ve come out on top :)

Hiraeth: (noun) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
“We’ll miss you” they said, like the air at their parties would hang hollow in my absence.
Like they think of me, kindly, when I am not around.
Maybe I was foolish to believe it,
But they said “We’ll miss you” like they really believed themselves.
Like how I believe they made last year worth the summer chaos.
Like how last August I showed up friendless but by May we were inking ourselves into one another’s skin.
That shit
Is permanent.
I believed we were permanently climbing rooftops together.
I believed we were close enough to catch if one of us miss-stepped
But most importantly,
I believed every single one of them was worth that potential fall.
Like how we treaded lightly on fallen leaves.
Like how together we would sing tree tops and dance river beds.
“Come visit” they said like they were eagerly awaiting my return.
Like they missed me how they said they would.
Like they still talked about me, kindly, when I was not around.
What they don’t know is that when I was not around
I sat
Lonely
New house
New city
Desperate for some familiar company.
“Come visit” they said.
I should have known trying to return home is a little like jumping hurdles backwards.
I should have known my home with them was only momentarily bound.
They’re the type to only think about this moment.
Maybe I was foolish to believe my past was going to last longer than it did
But
“We’ll miss you” they said.
“Come visit” they said.
“We don’t know when we’ll see you next” they said like my hour long commute diminished our abilities to remain connected.
Like none of them have a car.
Like filling a gas tank would tie a noose around their neck
Strangling their precious breath as they took steps towards my front door.
Like our friendship could only exist if it were face to face.
Like how they can’t even show up to celebrate another year
So 24 was introduced to faces that labeled themselves my “roommate’s friends”.
When the fuck did our friendships end?
I missed the miss-step.
We misfired drunken jealously and spit spiteful intent through our rolling lips.
I think they forgot we banged hips in hopes of something deeper.
But we sank
Like badly skipped rocks.
I expected to rise with sunshine smiles.
I expected to create commonalities a few more times.
I expected to come home to them.
Instead,
I’m alone again…
Craving a place I’m not sure I’ve even ever been.

She’s A Bad Day

I think of her on the bad days
The grey days that seem to fog my body with self hatred
The days these fingers don’t feel worthy of hands-
No hands to hold onto
The days there’s no home to hide in

I think of her on the bad days
The days rain clouds my eyelids with lonely defeat
The days my feet seem to hit the ground heavy-
Heavy hearts are hard to pump clean
The days when my hopes seem too distant to reach

I think of her on the bad nights
The charcoaled-soul nights that sing through me when I attempt sleep
The nights my lungs struggle to breathe-
Breathing deeply does not dissolve misery
The nights there’s no company to keep

I think of her on the bad nights
The quiet nights that allow my thoughts to run in circles of past pathetic emotions
The nights my head tells my heart to stop feeling so much and my heart tells me head to stop thinking so much-I think too much and, my heart, it feels too much
The nights where future me is still lonely

I no longer think of her on the good days
The bright days that fly by with a smile
The days I am company enough to keep myself happy
I keep telling myself these good days are “me”
Even though she used to be my happiness
She is now my worst days and somber nights
She is no longer
Good for me

Mean Substitution

“Are you a mean substitute?”
He asks.
I say,
“Kid,
It depends on who ya ask.

I’ve told I bask in my own rays too often-
Glow too brightly on my own.
I shine light on the darkness they think no one can see.
They call me mean.

I’m not mean spirited but I’ll let ya have it if you cross me.
My spiteful silence will fill your hollowness with non-existence.
My existence is hard to ignore so people cut me out,
Blow me off,
Bail,
But I’m the one who didn’t show I cared.

I’ve had enough of this selfish selfless game.
I’ve put myself in other people and they’ve walked away with my pieces,
Kid,
Can you see all my cracks I’ve gotten from people taking the parts of themselves they’ve given me back?
Can you see I lack the wholeness it takes to really love someone else in this place?

It all depends on how you view me.
Do you see my loose flowing boundaries as impossibilities?
I’ve been told my expectations fall too top heavy,
Don’t view me as big headed.
I’ve got a lot of ideas just like you and I mostly always tell the truth.

I am not a mean substitute.

So you cannot be mean to me, now please, go take your seat.”

Roam With You

My blood is creativity.
I am rivers of visions shining through glass stained expression.
My spine is a bound journal.
The mountains in my chest are stitched crooked,
But I’ve been glued well enough to stay somewhat put together.
I am only ever somewhat put together.
My pages turn faster than I-80 traveling wheels.
Western holes flash flood my bones.
I have a charcoaled core from believing in only one type of love.
Show me your free flowing curiosity.
Show me insightfully with inspiration and I might grow brighter.
Let’s be sunbeams
And sunset lakes.
The land is there for exploring
And with you,
I’d love to go roaming.

You see, Kid

While working in the preschool, I developed a poem titled Why-Kid that you can find here. I had found that little kids ask a lot of questions, which does not bother me, but one question in particular was always harder to answer than others: why?

After working for over 30 weeks in a preschool setting, I moved to a first grade classroom. This jump in age brought for more complex questions, but that tiny three letter word never went away. Curiosity was always there. Here’s another Kid poem.  Same idea, more grown up concepts.

You see, Kid.

The same exact breath can make a fire glow or blow it out
You see, Kid
Not everything makes sense
And sometimes people will try to blow you out
But you are candle with a self-lighting wick
It might not make sense
And yeah,
Sometimes Ys sound like Es and words are not spelled how they sound
But since you were small you were taught to sound it out like music notes flowed through your ear canals and out of your mouth with grace as a teacher got in your face and said,
“Learn this!
I Promise you’ll use it.”
And you lose it when photograph starts with a PH because you know “PHOTOGRAPH” starts with “fff” and F makes that sound
But Kid,
Welcome to the English language
Sometimes letters lie
Like all those times you claimed to be asleep at night when you snuck a light under your sheets and learned that I comes after E but only after C
Or maybe it was I comes before E but only after C…
You see, Kid
Sometimes things don’t make sense
Like how the same breath can make birthday wishes or produce clouds of smoke
Things smoke when they are hot and things smoke when they are cold
It does not always make sense
There’s a lot of things people will warn you about
Like bears
And tornados
And looking both ways before you cross the street
Sure, those things can be harmful
But Kid,
Remember there’s always another perspective and if someone hasn’t show you it
Then go search for it yourself
You were born a Why-Kid
So keep asking questions
Like why is blue a cool color when it’s the hottest part of the flame?
Why can’t you touch something that can float so delicately?
There are people cutting fire across their wrists in order to understand any of this
But Kid,
Sometimes things just don’t make sense
People don’t always live up to their words
But at least you will know how to spell them
Because you know there are three different ways to spell the sound -er
IR for the times I and Running and Running and Running and need to stop
-errrrrrr
UR for the times U R asking so many questions I need to slow down and think
-errr…
ER for the times people wanted to go too fast for their wheels
Yeah,
They should have slowed down
But Kid,
Don’t ever slow down the rate curiosity caresses your desire to know more
You were born a Why-Kid
So keep asking questions
Like why the same breath can be held under water but lost in altitude
Do things that make you hold your breath so you can remember how nice it feels to breath
Deep
Blow out your birthday candles and don’t forget that
Wish
Remember
You are still lit
Even though you know they lied about the tooth fairy
And Santa
And the Easter Bunny too
And you’re not mad
You just want to know why they didn’t tell the truth
Sometimes people will let you down and that’s the truth
Don’t fear your relaxed nature when people tell you
“You have to have a plan”
Some people have a plan for everything
But you should know by now,
Everything does not always make sense
And it’s better to know that than to spell photograph with an F just because it makes more sense
You were not made to sit in contentment
So ask your questions, Kid
Nothing
Should always
Make sense
Inhale a breath so cool it ignites your inner blue
Because, Kid
I’ve got high, high hopes for you