There's a familiar pit in my stomach
Instead of scrambling up the walls to escape it, bloodlying my fingertips,
I sit
I sit right down in the center of this familiar dark
And I feel it move
First into my shoulders
I relax my shoulders
Give them a good roll
It moves then down to my kneecaps
I stretch out my legs as I breathe in
I observe
It moves again
Into the tips of my toes
And before I've finished exhaling,
It's left me
Do I miss it?
Not particularly
It'll be back
Next time I might have some tea while I sit
❍ ❍ ❍
Been struggling with anxiety a bit more lately. Just stress mostly. This one is about that.
11:49 PM
Feel kinda numb.
But only when I don't turn my head.
I think I have a pinched nerve somewhere.
Here's a haiku:
You go on ahead.
I'll finish my cigarette.
It's too late for me.
Ok goodnight world
❍ ❍ ❍
'A Freeform Poetry Exercise?'
An Exercise
Free form poem
First thing that comes to mind
—
Road head, let's get 'ROCKED!' she said
Then he hit a dog.
He blamed her. She blamed his dick.*
—
I hit a dog once. A puppy. It head just high enough to be clipped by the front fender of my car. A another dog, a friend maybe, ran to see if it was ok. It wasn't. It hurts to write this. Don't know where it came from. I kept driving. Hysterical. Said some kind of prayer for it. In my head I envisioned a better world for it. A world just for dogs. Like All Dogs Go To Heaven. Sorry puppy. I never named you. You may not have even lived long enough to get a name. Everett. Little Everett the jaywalking dog. God damn I just kept fucking driving. Sorry Everett.
It felt good to get this out. I hope you don't think less of me for it. Take heart that I'm gonna spend the rest of my days ensuring it never happens again.
But I don't know man. It happened too fast for me to react. Didn't it?
I think I should try this exercise more often. Also 'road head' just so happened to be the first thing I thought of because that Def Leppard song 'Let's Get Rocked' was playing a minute ago on the work radio when I started writing. I guess Def Leppard makes me think of road head. Ok I gotta get back to work.
RIP Everett. Too young. I'm really fucking sorry.
*I edited in this part afterward to lighten it with a bit of dark humor. Had to cheer myself up a bit after this one.
An Introduction.
I want to write. I need to write. It's one of the few things I'm confident in and in this somewhat tumultuous period in my creative development- I haven't made shit in two months and my motivation... fuck sake even now the words just escape me. I have ideas that excite me before I come up with ten different ways to justify incinerating them in the fires of my own bitter insecurity. What an introduction god damn I'm bumming myself out right now. Sorry.
Hello. I'm Misha, as far as you know. I've always casually enjoyed creative writing and blogging but never really dedicated myself to it despite writing being one of the few creative endeavors I've found success in. This blog is gonna primarily act as a place where I can haphazardly spit my thoughts and ideas out and maybe stimulate the minds of a few fellow bleeding hearts while I'm at it. I'm talkin' rants, ramblings, musings, reviews, good reasons to freeze to death. I'm going to write a novel too. I'm making that promise to myself. Might even do the first draft here on a separate blog. Not right away though. I think I'll post a few short stories here. Get back into poetry. Gotta reawaken my own imagination man. Re-train that fuckin' muscle. I feel like for all the pretentious ass poetry and monologues and shit I wrote in high school I never gave fiction a fair shot.
If I've managed to peak your interest with this ramble, you're weird.