AFK

My last entry here was a while ago, October feels farther than less than one month behind me, but here we are. Almost to the end of November, and the wind reminds me of it’s frigid loving energy. SubStack seems to get the best of my writing, even with no one there to read it. Do you ever feel like no one sees you, even when you know they do?

Here is my latest poem, inspired by being yelled at by a fellow writer, in a room of my peers.

Signing up for a workshop at the library

A free one at that 

There are four today

But they are for a select and privileged few

Don’t try to have humour at the library

Your jokes will not go over well

This is serious business 

This business of writing down emotions

Just don’t use emotions in everyday conversation 

That’s the catch

You have an author in residence

Your author is in charge 

They write words of anger and fury

And throw them at whoever speaks sarcasm

This is not the wishing well

This is the well I guess you’re fucked wish

No room for you

And besides you weren’t wanted

Why go where you aren’t welcome 

Is an answered question to the unanswered response

Sign up sooner and be with the privileged few

If you don’t know the what’s what

How would you know the who's who?

You never meant to offend

But that is how being funny is devolved

Into the inability to take a joke

Your feelings are hurt but when you say that to the world

The world is hurt by your feelings

So how do we end this cycle

It has gone beyond the generational washing machine cycle

And morphed into the human sociological psychocycle

Words are meant to be spoken

Even if it isn’t technically a word

The implication is there when you say I spoke

What would I speak other than words and bad jokes

What would I speak other than my truth in a room of my peers

What would I speak other than this.

The solution to all my problems… a perfect cappuccino