30 in 30 2016: To Edit or Not to Edit

Fear of editing is a common affliction for writers. If someone else tries to make my work better, isn't that really just them putting their own influence/preferences on my words? Not really, but that's part of the irrational fear that sets in and starts waking up it's BFF Apathy to keep everything stagnating.

Apathy for edits is that feeling of "well...what's the point of fixing it if it isn't going anywhere." An awful mindset to have, especially about your own work, but that's always been a big-ish issue for me. I don't want to do it just because it's there to be done and nothing says it really needs to be done. It would be easier if I had to turn it in, deadlines work great for me, but fake ones are too transparent to trick my brain into upping the effort.

Even as I'm writing this, I'm coming up with reasons it doesn't make any sense to put the effort into edits. What if I put the effort into reading through them all and fixing them, but wind up making them worse or not being able to fix them at all? What if I go to reread them and find out they were awful and I want to change everything? What if what if what if? All the what if's end up bring on the stagnation I want to avoid anyway.

It feels strange not editing the poems, almost like abandoning something I cared about a great deal, at least for a time. It is like not calling your parents for a long time, sure it doesn't REALLY affect that much, but you feel bad for letting it happen anyway. Ultimately I don't think I will put a lot of time into editing the poems, at least not publicly. I feel like the important part about the whole 30 in 30 experiment was to put my efforts out there for whatever they were worth. I am pleased with the way a lot of them came out and with the experiment overall. Even with that I feel like editing the poems and posting them back onto my blog would be like running in place. Not getting anywhere from trying the same thing over and over again.

I've got an idea, that instead of posting the edits to the poems I'll record myself reading the poems aloud and posting them instead. I need more practice with my voice and I feel like it's easier to get the work out there if people don't have to read the stuff. Not sure if I'll do audio recordings or try my hand at YouTubery, but I like the idea of that way more than posting more walls of text to the emptiness of my corner of the internet. Plus I'm overdue for getting pro-active with putting my work out there. Fixating on making the poems "better" to publish on my blog seems less important than using the poems to practice other aspects of writing and presenting my work.

This idea may end up not happening like some of the others I've had, but given the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, the edits and posting on my blog feels far too samey. Gotta try something new, even if I'm not exactly sure what that new thing is yet.

30 in 30 2016: #29 Peanut Butter + Jelly Sandwich

#29 Peanut Butter + Jelly Sandwich

Nothing special lunch
Everyday Lunch
Default lunch.

Make it without thinking lunch.
No mess to clean up after eating it lunch.
Years of practice getting the proportions exactly right lunch.

Gustatory memory explosions when I’m having a quiet day lunch.
My entire childhood lunch.
Reminder of where I came from no matter where I find myself lunch.

Cheap enough that I can change my plans for lunch lunch.
Won’t need to be refrigerated lunch.
Travels well and doesn’t make a mess lunch.

A memory and an idea in every bite lunch.
Satisfying because of it’s history lunch.
I don’t know why I still love it but I do lunch.
__________________________________________
#30 Sunrise on the Last Day
On my way home I feel the last kiss
of the sun as it sets,
a heated reminder that my search to find
a restful morning is only hours away.


I have spent so much time
looking for a place to see that sunrise from.
I’m ill equipped to create the tranquil night’s sleep
necessary to make it out in time to rest through the sunrise.

By the time I’m up, no hill high enough to see it
has enough room left for me
to get comfortable without fighting
my way overtop of other people
who just want to see the same sunrise.

Instead I catch glimpses of that light
spilling down the sides of buildings
across from my office window,
pinpoints of brilliant reflecting light

leaving sunspots in my vision the rest of day.

30 in 30 2016: #27 Learning the difference between bravery and recklessness #28 Remembering to love myself gets harder with old age.

#27 Learning the difference between bravery and recklessness

At the intersection of Bravery, Reckless, and Foolish, 

I’m standing on the corner waiting for my ride outta here. 

I’m not sure which direction it’s coming from 

or which direction I expect it’ll be leaving. 

They all look the same from this corner. 

Dark streets with foggy far ends. 

It always takes a long time to get here, 

but I always come crawling back to this spot. 

Most of my life was launched from here, 

though I’m not sure where any of it got to. 

I know I should learn my way out of here; 

which streets take me the safest way home the quickest 

and which aren’t headed anywhere I need to be. 

They are one way streets spilling out away from me. 

I can’t remember the last time I arrived, 

but I know I haven’t left yet. 

My ride isn’t showing up, 

so I know my chances at an easy way out 

are growing slimmer the longer I wait. 

I’ll try to fit as much deep breath into my lungs as I can in one shot, 

before closing my eyes and stepping off the curb searching for a soft landing.

_______________________________________

#28 Remembering to love myself gets harder with old age

Object permanence destroyed my hopes

of becoming a rock star superhero. 

Running through stubbed toes and scraped knees, 

forever was a distant dream of a new world 

where summer stretched there and back 

and school was closed the entire time. 

I could dream into that ocean of possibility 

without ever having to know how shallow it was. 

When the world stopped seeing 

“I didn’t know any better” as cute 

I realized how far forever 

wasn’t going to stretch for me. 

Forever became a reflection of whatever

I couldn’t change about myself. 

The parts of me that I see every day 

are still there and still what I saw yesterday. 

There are so many things that 

I just didn’t have time to rescue from themselves. 

I find new ways to live the life I’ve lead 

every time I reflect on the things I couldn’t save. 

The time it takes to sort out what can be fixed 

and what I’m stuck with 

is a more daunting task than I can confront. 

But looking into the mirror, 

I remind myself that this is not forever 

and things can always change, 

even if I forget how they do.

30 in 30 2016: #26 Forgetting how to word

Forgetting how to word

Forgetting where I was
on my path to becoming great.

There are answers hiding
somewhere behind the blink
of the screen’s cursor.

It blinks, oblivious to how to help me
to even begin to look for them.

I’ve forgotten how to pull
the words out of blank space
and make them it to the end.

This happens every time
I stop to look around for
more than a moment.

If I keep my head down too long,
I can’t recognize where I am
when I start to pay attention to my surroundings.

This doesn’t have to be
a conclusion to anything I’ve done before.

Remind myself that being “okay”
is better than having nothing.

30 in 30 2016: #23 She’s got the nicest biggest pair of...eyes I’ve ever seen. #24 I regret the things I’ll never change #25 Making Breakfast the Eye of our Morning Hurricane

#23 She’s got the nicest biggest pair of...eyes I’ve ever seen. 

My eyes trace over her outline
and settle near her top.
She’s got the nicest biggest pair
of...eyes I’ve ever seen.

I’m talking cartoon character big.
Big like two moon cookies
blinking from the center
of two bowls of cream

They open up just before a smile
to let her light out and squint to hide it
just as her laughing lips peel back
to announce her intent on being joyful.

It’s a sea of crystalline amber
swirled into infinite possibility.
I can recognize my future
in the light that catches in their corners.

I feel small swimming inside them.
I look as far into them as I can,
wondering if there is a bottom,
hoping to never find it.

________________________________

# 24 I regret the things I’ll never change

I’ll never be able to change people’s minds 

about California Pizza Kitchen. 

It’s not pizza 

and it’s not a kitchen, 

and it’s not exclusive to California. 

Everything about the name 

is a lie 

and no one cares.

I’ll never be able to change the mindset 

of the person taking 20 items 

to the 10 items or less aisle 

and thinks putting a divider 

between the first 10 

and the second 10 

makes their fooling no one trick okay. 

No one thinks it’s cute 

and we’re all in a rush

I’ll never know how to explain to drivers 

that someone on a bike 

should not be a threat 

to you or your car. 

Driving aggressively around 

them just makes you 

look like an asshole. 

I’ll never have the time to go back and fix all the untapped potential

that got paved over 

by the bills of survival’s necessity. 

It’s too late 

to dig it all up again, 

but at least it’s a solid foundation 

to build on top of.

I’ll never change my later rather than sooner mentality 

that has made procrastination 

the cornerstone of most 

of my loudest self-doubts. 

There’s a world of difference 

between said and done.

_____________________

#25 Making Breakfast the Eye of our Morning Hurricane

The screeching halt to sleep broken by a persistent alarm clock 

that races roosters for the first noise of the day. 

Signalling the countdown has started and there is no avoiding it. 

The light in the bathroom is louder than trumpets, 

as the pieces that make up my whole wake slowly. 

The coffee is always a little different each morning. 

What am I gonna where? I still need to shower. 

I still need to take a shower before the neighbors wake up 

to steal whatever is left of the hot water. 

Do I have matching socks? I need to do laundry. 

I need to find time for laundry in my evenings. 

Maybe I can move my relaxing to the weekends, 

squeeze that in between the errands and feeling like a person. 

Halfway through the countdown and I feel like I’ve gotten nothing done.

Then we share breakfast, 

and listen to the quiet, 

and hold each other’s attention 

with stolen glances 

and reminders that at the end of the day 

we will be waiting for each other 

with a whole day of life to share. 

I reach across the table 

to squeeze her hand 

and share our body’s warmth 

with each other over a sigh. 

The last bite takes the longest to chew.

The countdown is nearing the end. I’ve still gotta pack my lunch,

digest my breakfast, brush my teeth, ready my backpack, 

check the air in my tires, check the weather, check the traffic, 

check the windows again and make sure they are shut. 

Did I lock all the windows? I don’t want to close them too early, 

or it will get stuffy in here before I leave, then I’ll sweat, 

then I’ll get anxious and wonder if I am actually ready or I need change. 

Will the traffic be too much today? The sound of cars going by reminds me

of what I’m up against. 

My morning is already over. 

I forgot to pay attention to it again.

30 in 30 2016: #22 When the world ends I’ll be able to afford…

When the world ends I’ll be able to afford…

When the population dwindles
due to a lack, or abundance,
none of us were prepared for,
the governments of the world will
lose track of their borders
and collapse in on themselves.

I’m just waiting for the day
when society gives up on staying together,
we all break up with our world
and start seeing others.
That’s the day I can take my pick
of all the gris grises that are
priced out of my reach.

Those big houses with the beautiful views,
heating bill troubles, and property tax hate mail.
I’ll have my pick every night
cause no one is left to do a credit check
and tell me the arbitrary # they assigned me
isn’t the arbitrary # they would have liked to see.

I’ll have whatever combustion beast I want,
or take my time to get places without one.
My wardrobe will go unnoticed,
regardless of how impeccable it may become
when money is no longer involved in the cost.

The me first and the gimme gimme generation
has refused to give up their hold on
the world they are passing to their children.
They’ll hand us the keys to the place
from their cold dead hands,
with minimal prying and coaxing from their children.

30 in 30 2016: #21 Shoplifting for better ideas

Shoplifting for better ideas

To a rebellious youth with no money and even less pocket change,
retail store’s with “no chase” policies were like a warm hug.

The places where the best ideas are kept,
are right under the noses of the people that pieced them together.
These don’t fit in my hands well.
They are awkward to hold and beautiful to look at,
but work much better
if you know how they were put together.

So I waste my time with the bad ideas
that don’t really look like they’ll go very far unless
I really carry them.
That sorta clever foresight never
stopped me from making mistakes though.

The trick is to find the best place you to hide
when you take what you want before you lift it from the shelf.
If you can take it and keep it on yourself long enough,
you should be able to walk out
like it was yours the whole time.

The bad ideas are the easiest ones to lift.
No one ever thought to keep them safe from being stolen.
They would collect dust on the shelves,
if they weren’t always such shiny targets
in the obscured corners of the store.

Sometimes you end up
making eye contact you didn’t want to
while you’re carrying your bad idea.
Arguing with yourself whether it’s cause
they know you have it
or if you’re just putting off the air of the guilty.

Like big bright warning signs
telling you not to,
you see the bad idea from a mile away.
By the time you’ve steered toward
your straight shot to the exit,
it’s already too late to put the bad idea back on the shelf
for the next sticky fingered idea stealer to regret.