it’s the time of year
just about
where hope and joy
fizzles out
i’m draining onto
a dirty ground
like a lost set of keys
never found
there’s no end here
i’ll walk forever
awake no longer
and sleeping never
depression
gloom and doom
even my favorite parts
of Summer
can’t will away the feeling
we’re all barreling
towards a cliff
with an obvious end
end of the spring semester
I’m walking the path
kicking dandelions
they’ve gone to seed
just like the rest of us
introvert
you’re too loud
too abrupt
you finish your sentences
at the end of a question mark
maybe your words
don’t come off
as polite as they should be
you talk too much
maybe
I’m just so sick
of stuffing my personality
down in the dark
where no one can see it
and I’m tired
of being afraid
that I’ll say the wrong thing
I’ll upset someone
they won’t like me
like the stars
that never turn off in the day time
invisible but
always there
and maybe I don’t want to shine always
but I’m sick of turning my light off
so others can, too
Hands Off
For this one, I’m adding a note here first for some context. I recently read an article about Trump suggesting “menstrual classes” for US women to help increase birth rates in America. Because you know…none of us seem to know how our bodies work. 🙄 The article was a little bit too Handsmaids Tale-ish to me, and so ludicrous that I simultaneously wanted to laugh and cry. The disgusting desire to control women’s health is just so disrespectful and alienating. I also can’t believe that it’s even happening to begin with. The ignorance and corruption. And at any rate, it also pissed me off, and so, of course, I wrote something in response to it. I wrote several stanzas, to be honest, but in the end, I only needed one.
The article, if you’re curious:
I am thirty-six years old
I know what I need
I dont need a billionaire white man
telling me how to bleed
eventually
the hardest thing
about growing up
or growing old
is the relationships you grow out of
love may be infinite
but time doesn’t mean
you’ll be in the same place
or the same time
always
eventually
you have to admit
that how you once meant to somebody
is now different
she’s not a baby anymore
she’s on her own path now
you blinked
and missed the old one
but
how you wish
like you could grasp it in your hand
a wish like squiggly worms
you wish
you could zip along, too
Once again (sigh), it’s not Monday. I’ve been toying with the idea of switching to Tuesday and Wednesday posts.
Wrote this one last night. It’s difficult for me to watch my nieces and nephews get older. For some reason, it’s like I always thought they’d be little. Maybe in my eyes they still are. Even though they’re not. 😭
–AJM
work week
we plug in
and as joy drains away
so does our hope
to do something for ourselves
and then the week ends
and it’s monday again
aliens
I had a dream I visited aliens
they left their spaceship on the moon
yet in the time they left it
I stepped on it like a balloon
and it didn’t pop or float away
it shattered and made a mess
for the rest of the dream they chased me
trying to get me to confess
the space ship was red and white
like a plastic bobber on the lake
it hovered over my parents house
so close it made the windows shake
and each time they looked for me
I ran away to some place new
getting more and more exhausted
as my paranoia grew
I was so afraid and full of fear
but I never saw their faces
I just ran away from the truth I knew
that I was lacking in social graces
Once again, it’s not Monday. I didn’t want to be away for the next few days and not post anything. This one is actually written from a dream I had a month or so ago. I have strange dreams a lot and might consider writing more on them.
I hope everyone has a nice week and to those of us in the US – a very Happy Thanksgiving!! ❤️
~AJM
in darkness
For Halloween 🎃 ❤️
Monday-est of Mondays
late for work today
twisted my ankle walking
miserable rain
Forgot to get a post ready last night, sick with bronchitis and a sinus infection, it’s rainy and dark, and turned my ankle walking into work. 😭😭 I’d like a redo for today, thank you!
AJM
A. J. Morse 