Daily Citadel: 12/18/2022 - 12/24/2022
12/18/2022
Welcome to the Glass Citadel! After a fun week exploring the revision process, this week will get back to generating more poems everyday. Thank you for reading, and be sure to follow to stay up to date.
12/19/2022
Instagram; "Convenience"
The body is,
once again,
jealous of
words.
‘Why can’t I have the
distinction it stole from
me?’ it thinks to itself.
That dichotomy is
there, present in
even the words
we use: body(singular) words(plural).
They’re both not that,
you know?
All the living and breathing cells in the
body rise up in anger at the mere
implication that they are just one thing.
And the words?
There is no breath to separate one sound
from the next, no pause, though we
might think, between the first and the
second word.
But then,
it’s convenient.
I’ll butcher the truth to spare the herd.
And, though I say just this once,
well…
The difference between singular and
plural is oh so easy to miss (But I don’t
miss [plural]).
Twitter; "Aristotle is just..."
Aristotle is just
the name of
the turtle
floating in my bathtub.
I don’t ever
read any
books or
study any
history, so
my mind
is free
for once.
Aristotle
is graceful
while he swims
12/20/2022
Instagram; "S[Cared]"
Care[less] for the careful, for their care
is all [care]worn being care[]ful[l].
The care[givers/takers] are rarely care
free, for their cares aren’t [care]taken
but rather care(ers).
[Life]cares and [day]cares sound now
for me, as my cares [care]en to what
could have been.
Twitter; "Angel in Headlights"
An angel is really just
road kill
in the making, right?
They come down from
on high
and don’t understand
our traffic.
Not that an angel can’t
figure out what traffic is
and what is going on,
(angels are smart enough)
but it wouldn’t understand
The Why.
The way we live our lives
must be completely foreign
to it in every aspect.
The only question left is:
Is that a Bad Thing?
12/22/2022
Instagram; "Of Water and Glass"
A dying man ignored the oasis
and started filling his waterskin
with as much sand as he could.
All he saw before he died
were dreams of a thousand
roaring kilns and enough glass
to make a skyscraper.
Twitter; "Of Maps and Flowers"
A compass rose still has its thorns,
and a bull never forgets its horns,
even when the hot iron is gone.
I plucked a couple thousand flowers
across the span of a thousand hours
until the meadow is now a lawn.
The map it stung, but so did you
as the sky it bled all the shades of blue
over the sun throughout the dawn.
12/23/2022
Instagram; "Growing Pains"
The house grew an extra three inches
when we weren’t looking. Momma
doesn’t know where it came from, but
Papa says it doesn’t matter, we need the
firewood.
We’re gonna climb up on the ladder any
moment to extract the extra wood.
Momma keeps saying to be careful, to be
worried, but I wasn’t worried until she
told me I could be.
Papa says it will all be okay, that this is a
gift and to never question gifts, but now
I don’t feel too good about this. I have to
help him though, so I can’t stay down here.
Wish that it’ll all be okay, for me.
Twitter; "Wounds"
As the wound grows,
the two sides of skin
try their best to hold out.
But,
red tears flow steady
as the skin separates them.
They’ll join again
when the body heals,
I know.
12/24/2022
Instagram; "For the Love of the Circus"
Do you remember how we’d
never listen
despite all of our long lost
great ambitions?
We’d climb the trees,
we’d soar through the skies,
while dancing past
unbelieving eyes.
But the trees are paper
and the skies are scraped,
and our dances
once again unshaped.
Call to the Sun,
call to the moon,
and pray the days
come back like June.
And autumn comes to
deleave the trees
while you go and give
my hand a squeeze.
You go and give…
while we perform the circus
trapeze.
Twitter; "Snow and Water"
There is no such thing as a
melted snowman:
only one of a different design.
There is no such thing as a
drowning man:
only one just below the brine.
There is no such thing as a
corrupted plan:
only one that bides a different sign.