It’s 9:33 p.m. and I’ve written five variations of this poem.
The same syllables, the same fingers clicking on the keyboard,
and each time I feel like I’m getting somewhere,
but the sentiment keeps sinking.
How do you control a brain that just wants to dance?
My mind keeps taking me back to when I was a child
and I taught classes with my toys in my bedroom--
or maybe they taught me--
hours would pass and yet I couldn’t stop
inventing worlds and words
like the ticking and the clicking of my computer keys now.
How do you calm thoughts that are too anxious to settle?
I’ve too much to do, there’s a life I’m not living yet,
who am I disappointing,
or how much am I failing myself--
all of these words are merging in a lesser Pollock
somewhere in Poland.
The Internet tells me to just relax, to take a breath
Drink less caffeine
But what’s glamorous about that?
I’ve an image to uphold, you know.
It’s 9:37 and I’ve written six variations of this poem.
And I’m afraid I’m no closer to the finish line
than I was the moment I took my first breath.
Writer, editor, and storyteller living in the Twin Cities.