I’m still these nervous feet and heart of stone

I miss Thailand less and less… The one thing is the dancing.  If I was walking down the street in Fargo, heard music, and started busting it… I would get locked up most likely.  But in Thailand? Heck naw.  I could dance wherever/whenever, and there was always someone who would join me.

and oh, the ocean.  Except invariably when I wanted to stand at the edge and watch the waves late at night, someone would ALWAYS ALWAYS come and insist on trying to make small talk.  I had no patience for it.

 I should take a meditation class or two.  No one would come up and make small talk with me if I was in deep meditation in my room.  hopefully.

I’m sort of really into a dude.  I cooked for him which I rarely do, even for myself. eee! crazy.

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six months

 

I throw myself at
anonymity
inhabit turtle shell
back alleyway
shadows
sleep for 13 hours a night
lose my ability
for metaphors
quit writing
quit singing
quit college
I take on mannerisms
that would make my former self
look like a
bellowing lumberjack
I know it threw you
to watch a butterfly
devolve into
a caterpillar again
reverse Darwinism
disappearing wings
star turned black hole
_____________________________________
my writing is VERY sub par lately but I will work on that.  It’s like learning how to breathe again.  Not that I can remember the first time I learned how to breathe.  anyways I lost six months due to … well.  I did not write this during those six months but to be honest I didn’t really write anything.  Just laid in my bedroom and watched like thirty episodes of “Community” a day.  I’ve never referenced a lumberjack in a poem. Oddly enough I mention lumberjacks in real life quite a lot.