my pen is broken from too much thinking. where without the soothing curse of love - i might be bored. someday my friends will find me asleep in an attic at noon. curled up in a pile of cards they sent through the years. there is a chocolate cake pillow and a little a little cup of tea.
I have been looking for a cure for as long as I can remember. First, it was for food when I was hungry and for something to drink when I had thirst. Once I realized I could get my needs met, by asking to be fed, for a glass of water, a blanket – it was as if finding something out there to fix what was needed in here
became the blueprint for my next decided action. I quickly began to look towards friendship when I was lonely, an excuse when I was mad, a party when happy, a lover when amorous, a bed when fatigued. Soon it was coffee when tired, aspirin when sore, hat when frizzy, diet when fat, and absolutely anything when bored. So that every feeling should be resolved or counter balanced. An antigen found. A remedy procured. But what if. What if I did not so rashly fill my hunger, sate my thirst, friend my loneliness, blanket my chill? What if tired were allowed to be sleepy, and chubby, plump, and frizzy, fro? What if lonely were lone, and mad just that? Would all just simply BE?
happy. amorous. tired. inert. hungry. lonely. bored. alive.
May We Be.
there is none.
no thing is happening
that could mean more
than it already does.
so what feels like boredom
is just being