In My Room

Anger, listlessness

Tantrum on my bed choreographed haphazardly. Whipping my arms and legs against blue comforter face in a pillow I get scared when I can’t breathe. The noise is obvious and I imagine what roommates wonder. I’m just trying to release rage and I want to whip it around a bit. I don’t feel curious I just want it out. I don’t want nuance I just want it gone. I will self soothe and dissociate but I have to write a poem every day and a song every week and it requires a bit of presence. 

Pleasure, well-fed

I don’t often write about positive emotions. Because love and grief are the same? Happiness seems trite I actually don’t know what the word means, trite trout fishies yellow tail like butter, now that I think of it there was a night this summer where my best friend took me to a dinner party with a professional chef and he made sashimi, steak, miso mushrooms, oysters, seared tuna, and definitely a few other random excellent things and we ate it all on the floor of a small one bedroom in cap hill. And we laughed so much the people were very funny. For dessert we had key lime pie ice cream and when we left I was almost too drunk and the hostess ran after us to offer me a monstera plant that sits in my room with me now.