Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

Right now I am
thinking in poetry

line breaks

word shapes

stack sounds in strange ways

Is this how it is meant to look?

Maybe it would look better
feel nicer
sound clearer
if i put in fewer spaces.

Do I want all punctuation?
Properly formatted sentences
can be difficult
to rhymatize.

Is rhymatize a word?
I think so.
Red squiggles underline.
Wait...
Google says no.
I still say yes.

Now I digress.
But does that work?
Should the flow of ideas be neatly outlined, or come freely as my thoughts?  Perhaps I should spill the words out all as one in unbroken strings of color and thought the way they feel in my head unsaid
occasional rhymes and occasional beats and breaks keep changing

is this poetry?

Do
random line breaks
really take
prose
and
make it poetic
or
do
I
need to do actual
work
and find a form and stick with it?

For now today
I'll lilt and play
around.

Every poem a new experiment, another chance to try something new.

To play with rhythm, feelings, and sounds, to meticulously arrange language into a perfect unbroken form,

Or to simply see where the thoughts take me.
Should my real point be what is said, or how I
am saying it?

Sometimes the saying itself is the point.

Do you remember when I was younger?
Do you remember when you would wash my hair because it was too long for me to do it myself?
Do you remember taking me to school in the morning and buying me breakfast on the way there?
Or maybe when we would go to yard sales on Saturday and you would buy me old prom dresses and costume jewelry for me to dress up in?
Do you remember when I developed separation anxiety and had to sleep with you every night?
Now, I wash my own hair because I cut the long lengths of it off.
Now, I take myself to school in the morning and buy myself breakfast on the way.
Now, I work on Saturdays to save up for my prom dress.
Now, I sleep alone, clinging to my pillow.
Now, I miss you more than ever before.
I miss when you had hair as long as mine.
I miss when you would do my makeup and tell me that I hardly needed any at all.
I miss when you would play outside with me.
I miss when you would rub my back and hold me, whispering that everything would be okay.
I miss when I had someone to talk to, someone to tell how my day went.
I miss your smile, the way your lips curled into thin lines and your gums showed.
I miss your eyes, the same deep dark chocolate brown as mine.
I miss your voice, the soft yet raspy one that would wake me up every morning.
I miss you, mom.
And I don’t think there will ever be a day when I don’t miss you.
Some days are harder than others.
Some days I can hardly function,
And others, I wake up as if there is nothing wrong.
But deep in my heart, there is a hole.
One that can never be filled.
It just slowly drips out loneliness,
And it makes me miss you more and more.

Someday you’ll love you.
From the sparkle in your eye,
To the pitch of your laugh,
Even the color of your hair.

You will love every part,
From every wrinkle,
To every crinkle,
Every part of you.

But they will try to tear you down,
To make you frown,
To make you think you’re not worth it.

But darling you listen to me.

From the way you walk,
To the way you talk,
You will be mocked,
But don’t you listen.

From your weight,
To your height,
You are all wonderful to me.

Maybe one day you’ll see,
The beauty I see.
The way you were made,
So beautifully.

But until then,
Do not forget,
On how true beauty,
Comes from within.

I
am
healing
but I don't want you to take off your shoes in my home yet

I
am
healing
but I'm still afraid of your touch

I
am
healing
but while I'm healing, you're burning like a broken electric wire, and while you burn you bloom

so yes, I am healing
slowly
trembling
feeling numb
but healing

You're nothing but a blur as you pass me,
but there was something special about the way you moved.
It struck me like how lightning strikes a tree,
and leaves it to burn from the inside out.
I think I remember you.

Forgive me for stopping you here,
but I swear we have met before.
Didn't we once sit under the tree that we held so dear
in our young hearts, by the banks of the sluggish, brown river?
Do you remember me?

Your eyes stare back at me so blankly
and I felt my heart sink like those stones we once skipped
drowning in the sluggish waters when you said so frankly
that you have never seen me before.
And yet I remember you.

Why do I remember you
when you don't remember me?