ladyface (sometimes_up) wrote in sethalla,

holy fuck it happened.

i had this idea that maybe my idea that i was a semi-decent writer was rooted in some overly romantic schoolgirl fantasy about creative types and blahblah. until recently i hadn't written anything of note in MONTHS. no exaggeration there. i don't know how i feel about these, though. my unintentional break from writing has surprised me. i'm a different person now and so follows the writing i guess.

here are a couple:

Notes on La vie Boheme:

I declare, “Brilliant in its eloquence!”
of something simple—
a leaf
a sneeze
good pencil lead
A heavy sigh lifting itself
from the throat of your lover

that glorious throat
that you kiss upon waking

Our children will have
long necks and short fingers
freckled faces and wide eyes

Our lives will be eloquent in their brevity—
long enough to make a point
short enough to avoid annoyance

We will leave behind
only fingerprints
and a week’s worth of laundry

and of course the piles of books
we swore we’d read

I watched my Guinness fall
I feel I should drink brandy and smoke colorful cigarettes
Where is my café?!
Where is my Paris – 1920’s?

Edna St.Vincent Millay
had many lovers
She collected them it seemed –
pinned to her page
like dried butterflies
and studied the details of their physiology precisely.

It is the anticipation of This
which causes
the tininess of my self
to tremor deeply
to be consumed completely
what next?
and if I can’t? or won’t?
how might we begin?

I shall not yet presume to know.

It is all too much nothing, now –
whispers of possibilities
murmurings in the space between thoughts

I sharpen my pencil
I suck the chocolate from my fingertips
I disappoint a telemarketer

can’t sleep, must worry it
like a toothache

if so, then what?
if so, then what?

any thoughts/criticisms (!!!) you have would be much appreciated. you ladies are so talented. :]
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