I have the same fucking resolutions so tuck them in, pull the sheet up to that warm space under chin, kiss foreheads and take a mallet and wallop until you need to clean the walls.
I just want to be a better version of myself in 2018. I want to level up. I want to shed as much bullshit that does not serve me as possible. I want to put my money where my mouth is. I want to write another book. I want to sell a fucking book. I want to hit my Goodreads reading challenge for once. I want to eat all the unused gluten and buy recreational marijuana. I want to be what the picture of this lion is:
In an attempt to remember who I used to be, here are two poems.
You Are The Morning Quiet
Where there are pots and pans hands, you are not. The loud frightens. Its ugly, a thorn. Between the clangs and bangs your soft slips in. Your still, a reckoning of peace of home Brown flashes tendriled bright I wait for each one
High Hopes There is a shuffle in my heart it skips warm then chokes a snake mid eat on a thing it th…
It came for them first. Started with four, then it took two
more then two more. It waited a day, then took another.The day after that it took down two, then two
more, and now a twelfth. I don't know who it will take next. Everyone is wary. Looking for signs. Waiting. Scared.
Stomach viruses are no joke.
Like standing above a vast forest and watching trees
mysteriously topple and fall.A random
selection of destruction.Which tree
will go next? Why? How?All I know is it
a liquid hell for roughly six hours and then just misery for the next 33.I think I’ve lost all the weight I might’ve
gained on Christmas and then some.I ate
solid food last night for the first time in two days.It went down easy. It stayed down blissfully.
My stomach still feels shitty.And the underwear and sweatpants that I
sharted into whilst puking are still sitting in a cold, damp heap in the corner
of my childhood bedroom.I
half-heartedly rinsed them in the shower after my grand finale of shitting