So… I’ve been journaling for a while in the mornings… I made a rule for myself that I’m not allowed to write about events of the day or “real life feelings”… just word blobs.
And then a friend made me interested in poetry again.
And then another friend made me interested in doing things that feel scary…
So… in the interest of all of that, here’s a couple days’ worth of journal entries, unedited, from my private book:
You raise the dead.
I lick the tears from your eyes.
Splitting hairs as the world falls down… Our stolen moments like papercuts, exquisitely agonizing.
I can’t take my eyes from the scars on your back.
This leaking house, this bleeding heart, cracks in a blanket, lighting up my little room.
Your hands are shaking
Muscles release, strung with gold.
Rasputin sings the Fool’s eternal song
Golden puppets dance.
Dance for me.