Poetry Poe Would Roll His Eyes To


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Actually, I am.  Just not here.  And it’s mostly poetry.

I’m not exactly doing well at the moment.  I mean, I don’t feel depressed and I’m not suicidal or any of that crap.  I just can’t get out of bed most days.

Logic tells me that’s depression.  It’s weird being depressed, showing so many signs of depression, without feeling overly sad.  I think, honestly, I’m too tired and lethargic to feel much of anything but tired and lethargic.

I really need to talk to my meds doctor about it but I missed my last appointment due to hitting a pot hole (read: sink hole) with the car and shredding two tires and rims.  It was glorious.  And by glorious I mean a pain in the ass.  Luckily we were already planning new tires and rims with the tax return that showed up a couple of days later, but… I missed an important appointment.

I’m not even sure what to really say to her.  ”Hi, I’m not sad but I’m not exactly living.”

But then, in many ways I am living.  When I have the energy to partake in life I really enjoy it.  Pat and I went to the ballet a week or so ago.  We saw their interpretation of Alice in Wonderland.  The day before that we went to a friend’s art show at a gallery.  When I can find the energy I make the most of it.  The catch is a slept for 48 hours leading up to and following those 48 hours of energy burst.  96 hours in bed to be able to have 48 hours of normal life is fucked up math.

And I’m getting 105% in math, so I know my math.

Anyway, I’m writing over on my new tumblr blog.  It’s mostly poetry but then, not really.  It’s whatever the hell I want it to be.  There are no rules, no restrictions, no structure.  So it currently fits what I need for my writing.  You’ll notice a theme, should you read.

I loss someone recently.  Not someone I’ve discussed on here.  I don’t want to talk about it.  Not the details, anyways.  They are private to the two of us.  I’ll leave it that.

So, the tumblr: Shakespeare She Is Not

 

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You got the best of me
Rest of me
Tried and true test of me
I lied for you
Cried for you
A piece of me died for you
I wasn’t good enough
Understood enough
I knew I’d withstood enough
You took your leave that day
Slipped away
No words of goodbye to say
You left a shattered heart
Torn apart
Tears won’t stop when they choose to start

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So I’ve reached the point of realization of the best part of my job.  Or, at least for this week.  There is always a new best part every week.  Which might actually be the ultimate best part of my job, now that I think about it.

But I digress.

I have found the best part of my job, for this week.

Yesterday.  On a glorious Monday (I know but Monday sees me escaping my kids for a few hours of adult time after the weekend with them.) saw me kicking off my sandals and writing the beginning of a poem.  At work.  On the clock.  With branch manager, and actually district manger, encouragement.

There is a contest at work involving creativity.  Branch verses branch, not employee verses employee.  Though, I guess bankers aren’t the most creative sort.  They can be.  They just aren’t known for it.  The whole left brain verses right brain thing.  I think I wrote about that somewhere before, very recently.  Ah yes, here it is.

So I volunteered to head my branch’s submission.  And yesterday I got to business.

And for the first time in my life, was paid to write something creative.

Go figure it was part of my bank job.

I’ll see about sharing it later once the contest is over.  Sorry, but it’s kick-ass and I don’t want the goods stolen.

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Also made this one into a shirt.

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