Lately it seems as if every poem I read is about fingers trailing on skin, how that said skin is a map, how stars come down to kiss eyes at night, how limbs are support beams, etc. This never dawned on me until I saw this:
As poets, have we become lazy in our analogies? Is there nothing more to compare love, loss & incensed emotion to besides the body? And before you go on a say something, I am guilty of this myself. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. Being close, skin to skin with someone, is a delicate state. One that is often clouded in a hazy, musical moment. Unless of course, it’s Saturday morning and you’re both in pajamas with wild hair and disgusting breath and you race to the bathroom to take a piss first.
Or rather, life as it becomes.
So, I’m going to challenge myself. To not overuse rogue words. To not compare how I feel to limbs. To stars. To not forcefully pull a poem from my cold mouth before it’s ready.
As for that picture, I’m not quite sure what love written on my arms would look like.
Literal or figuratively.
Unless of course, I wrap my arms around love. Right as I crawl over him on a Saturday morning to make it to the bathroom first.
Currently listening to: All of This and Nothing, The Psychedelic Furs
Here it is folks, the last week of October.
Is your Facebook/Twitter/Pinterest/Tumblr feed full of pumpkins, costumes, candy, pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin rolls and exasperated exclamations of how Thanksgiving is just a few weeks away? Because you know it is. YOU KNOW IT IS.
This week will be intensely busy for me. Aside from my duty as Mom and the upkeep on the house while my husband travels, I’m also trying to prep myself for Nano and my Post of the Day- which start FRIDAY. I’ve dug through my closet for a back pack that will house my purse, my books, my sketches and my laptop. I’ve mapped out times for when I can sneak away and write. I’ve told myself a million times over that I’ll finish this beast through.
Every year I tell myself it’ll be different.
This year, I think I got it though. I have a game plan in my noggin. I have outlines and story ideas. That’s better than what I had previously (a chopped up story about a Chef and a gas station attendant). Gotta start somewhere, right? Right. Besides all that, my muse seems to be playing nice and I’ve been able to jot down quite a bit. Let’s hope she sticks around.
Also, I had to put down my book, A Literate Passion. Holy hell, it’s getting intense.
I’m the type of person who is moved by words. I am consumed by them. But these two, these two make my whole body ache. I often take on the mood of what I’m reading (I think a majority of people do that, right?). Then combine the art of writing letters and love… and well, it’s like my entire chest will implode. I had to give it a break, because I found myself sighing heavily and becoming too melancholy. Head far up in the darkened clouds I suppose.
While this week may be entirely crazy fun, I’m still trying to brace myself for November.
And reminding myself that…