Because my ideas.
And there is a bride here.
I am sure that fits in
Because it is so distracting
The institution of family
And that has nothing to do with marriage
And that is the distraction
The socio-historiical-institution of fill in the blank
That puts pressure on my words and make hard to
Find my place
My starting place
In anything other
Than strings of incoherency
(so I make it into a poem)
Even though I have asked everyone
Around me to inquire, blog, share, write
And I swish things around in my head
Salting any little wounds
And I ask you to dive daggers into the heart
Of the situation
And put your words out there
And thinking is writing, right?
Shouldn’t I stop emailing
You about what you are thinking
And give myself a talking to
And I am of course.
The bride, construct of pure, good feminine
Talks to my head all day
About why my writing and my not writing
Isn’t good enough.
Self pitying poem.