i get that to nearly all of you, my posts are
inconsequential;
two shiny stars in the sea of the sky,
swallowed up by your eyelids
when you follow that shooting star
instead.

so here’s some riddle riddled-honesty,
in the form of poetry and verse:
sorry to you, sorry to myself,
i’ve been skipping days, maybe like
skipping stones, but stone skipping
skips steadily, two skips a second
and suddenly slipping down a slope
the rate of the stone skip seriously skipping
swips to a slash of splashes in the stream:
sssssssshaaaaaasssssss; then
the skipped stone stops skipping &
sinks. Therefore, stone skipping
and skipping days are a little different;
because my stone is my star and for a week
or two it will sink suddenly before i take a
breath and say, GET UP!!!!!

and then there i am.

so here’s some riddle riddled honesty:
honestly, i am not sure where i am.
i say, “then there i am”, but there can
be space because i might be the star
in the sea amongst trrrriiiilllions,
but there can be right above the surface of
that stream where my stone sunk because
i might be sinking. I MIGHT STILL BE SINKING.
we’re all sinking, i think, but we’re all stars too,
and here’s some MORE RIDDLE RIDDLED HONESTY:

idk what’s going on. which, according to literally everyone, is a part of growing up— realizing that you don’t know jackshit but pretending like you do, which is exactly what this post is. i’m pretending i can weave my confusion into nice pretty words and phrases but in truth i’m spitting what i think— maybe you can tell. it’s a defense mechanism, i think, and here’s the paradox: the more i explain it, the more defensive it is. like that bo burnham sketch, right? yeah. just react to yourself reacting to yourself; it’s a loop. god, i don’t know what’s happening. so like, the other day, i tried to write a letter – a fake one – to some problematic events in my life. not to the people, but to the happenings. and i found myself being honest in a riddle-riddled way because i wanted to hide the fact that i was confused. why is it that now, no child wants to seem like they’re not capable? isn’t that sad.

isn’t that sad.

i get that to nearly all of you, my posts are
inconsequential;
two shiny stars in the sea of the sky,
swallowed up by your eyelids
when you follow that shooting star
instead;
sorry, man. sorry. i get that it’s nothing,
but sorry anyways. you can be that star or
that stone and you can think, “isn’t that sad?”
and then not do anything. you can change
your mind about that later, you can react to yourself reacting to yourself reacting to yourself until you’re in a paradox so deep it’s going through your heart into your brain into god up there in fucking heaven with his stained robes and iPad Pro, probably.
i get that to nearly all of you, my posts are
inconsequential;
two shiny stars in the sea of the sky,
swallowed up by your eyelids
when you follow that shooting star
instead;
we are the stars are the stones,
are the streams are the spaces
inbetween,
and we can’t stop saying:
sorry.