…actually, why not?
What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
Is that your real hair?
No, I shot it on my last hair hunt. This is my sanctioned trophy as the Ancestors decreed.
Why are you so emotional?
Who hurt you? Was it Mother?
Why do you care about these people?
Why are you a garbage person made of garbage? Look at you, a sentient trash can. A walking dumpsterfire. Gross.
*”Was it Mother?” is a quote IYKYK
What are three objects you couldn’t live without?
Are you a genie?
Because this feels like one of those trick questions… #dailysnark
 
that feeling of being too late.
everything’s so fast these days
zooming by in cyberspace
so far so that knowing something today
is already way too late.
how keep up with all the new things
words, visuals, memes
twitterings +++NEWS NEWS NEWS+++
live streams and live feeds
that apparently are telling us
everything everything everything
now now now
oh my god oh my god oh my god
did you hear did you read did you see?!
one question:
when everything is everything
always, all the time
what is anything, then?
is there such a thing as ‘then’
if everything is always breathlessly NOW?
in this constant always
how carve out a time to rest?
are we even willing
to give ourselves that kind of space?
it’s so exhausting.
one wishes to decompress.
slow down, not just pump the brakes
but come to a full stop
get out of the digital car
and look at the world around us
once again
.
© 2016 threegoodwords
fall and thoughts sail down
like leaves off a tree of self
doubt and certainty
asking, wondering
so many etcetera, too many to count
silently loud
in the quietness of hidden hearts;
questions that linger
ever since ‘I’ became ‘Me’
and ‘You’Â was separate
apart, a part of everyone
else
someone, somebody
a body beyond the self
‘I’, ‘Me’
sad hours seem long
that room where they come and go
why Michelangelo?
*
consciousness, they say
is when a mirror loses its wonder
and becomes reflection.
this is what we have
a sense of confinement that is open
static yet moving
a constant attempt to decipher
the senses trick or treating
us to another’s perception;
always desirous to
touch beyond skin
and hear the voice
that reaches our inner ear
as deep as heartbeats go
beyond skin and bone
to that marrow that others call soul.
© 2015 threegoodwords
the questions we all ask ourselves
quietly, silently
terrified
or shy, defiant:
if I write
will they read
if I tell
will they listen
if I am
will I be
good enough
brave enough
that one true thing:
au.then.tic?
always, always
like a river rushing, raging
spreading into deltas of doubt
if I do
will I deliver
if I see
will they believe
if I try
will IÂ succeed?
maybe in all this
the point is to not give in
to keep on going
to try and try again
until you can finally plant that mustard-seed.
© 2015 threegoodwords
Words, images & collages tossed from a window.
Essays, notes & interviews on why literary fiction matters to human living
small press. great publishing.
but don't take my word for it
Home hub & scribble space of Prose Writer & Poet Kristiane Weeks-Rogers (she/hers), author of poetry collection: 'Self-Anointment with Lemons'.
A journey from one end of the bookshelf to the other
three good words 