Been exceptionally stressed lately. Reading through some of these poems, I can't imagine publishing them as they are. I guess I've never left a poem in its first-draft state in the past; I don't know why I should think that the process would be any different with a notebook. Only, a notebook leaves much more evidence of my mistakes. Once I'm finished copying the notebook into blogger, I'm definitely destroying this notebook. I'll maybe get into the details about these stressful times in another blog. For now, here's the second bit of prose from my notebook:
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A meaningless stream of syllables wraps itself around me
In this fog I can see neither myself, nor my self-image.
My heart is divided: divided or not.
I can have what I want if I will put it in its proper place.
But the thing I want doesn't seem to fit there.
When the words stop I am a blade of grass, indistinguishable.
Swaying in quiet wind, I mark my distinctives in the ground around me.
The wind empowers me to express myself.
Every mark is washed away by that same wind.
God gives, and God takes away.
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"Denied?"
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