Hello, Zachary!

I've decided to share something I wrote in my journal last. I don't remember when I wrote it; I think it might have been when I was still in Durham. It is one of those silly little things I do sometimes.

I am mortally afraid of dying.

We joked about getting married
on December 21, 2012
But then I said,
"What about the honeymoon?"

At home I don't feel fat;
I just feel loved; I just feel
me.
I know that it isn't that way
for everyone,
But
What if it could be?
What if we get to love ourselves
in a totally comfortable way?
Even outdoors?
I like eating what I want,
and I like wearing bikinis.

I have nightmares, and I wake up with poetry.

What if zombies are just ghosts,
and inside they are dead folks
who can't accept that they're gone
And the living just focus on
the horror and other-worldliness

I'd like to think that they
are conscious
And they just can't help it.

I read Dean Young, and I like it.
Poetry makes more sense
with him making it.
I still write like a 4th grader
With no sense of rhythm,
and I still expect a rhyme.
time.

Where did that darn creativity go?

My nightlight is flourescent
It comforts me and makes
me cry.
I'm not a child anymore,
and that is a sad thing.
I think we all think so.
Sometimes I need a do-over
Take-backsies
Other times I'm okay.

I think it is strange
when old people get
surprised by young people
when they are nice
or when they read
or have an opinion
Young people aren't always
zoo animals.

Babies have autonomy
They just don't move so fast
They take things slow
They have milk with no coffee
Their food is half digested,
so they can enjoy the taste
without the work.
My nephew smiles as a reaction
instead of politeness
Polite mess.

I wish people got monetary
contributions for thinking
and creating
People aren't always
concerned about what
they should be.
Our lives aren't like the Jetsons
yet.
Roomba isn't Rosie
Did the mom have a job?

Existentialism happens
when I don't have
enough pillows.