Wrote poetry (more word vomit) formatted like House of Leaves. It’s my first time writing long-form (ish) poetry. It’s entitled Basic Words. The formatting may not work on all devices- sorry? I might make a sequel that either works better or on desktop or just basic one. Enjoy!
I often try to write about perspective, and emotion, and my thoughts,
dreams and endless questions but I find my words, no matter the kind, are always
lacking. words firm in logic, or that flow like a river, words that dance with each other
Words that that stay, that are colorful, that are
with annoyance, because it’s not quite right.
I express the same hollow
words and desires on paper, on technology, in speech, in thought. They echo to myself
of what I mean to put down. They are stable to others, perfectly normal,
Words aren’t perfection despite what I want, they don’t reach perfection
despite what I want, they don’t cross all thought despite what I want
They are simple, meant only for simple meaning and conversations, not the colorful things I
They describe only the black and white photo
I continue to write the same useless words trying to express the
even though these things that are functional lies mean nothing to you
because you don’t recognize this black and white photo as the
Words often feel cold and uncomfortable when I try to write . They feel
Every word is angry and stiff, when my thoughts are loose
happy and and l. d and and sudden.
thoughts are a mystery yet to be solved
I finish this poem, barely one at all, leaving unsatisfied and wanting for more.
More lines or stanzas about how I feel about how my paper doesn’t, how my
are suffocated on the page.
The stanzas, the sentences,
the letters, the lines, they all mean nothing in the context of thought. Despite this I
push on as a writer and a thinker,
trying to connect the two in a useless attempt that
I tried to finish this in a final paragraph of thought that summarized the
feelings I felt but it didn’t. Simple as that. I write these words again, still hollow,
still that black and white painting. I’ll probably never share these
that breathe as much as a corpse,
I could one day show another.
For another to see what is blatantly
a sad attempt to describe something
It gives me solace that one day someone will