Silence, then. Silence on a
silver platter, silence in the
central column of our spines.
Silence in the hallways. Three
steps down a wooden staircase,
the familiar gallop of a man
rushing on his way to work;
his hands running down the
bannister as though a flourish
on a keyboard. In the deep
thick mud of my insignificant
anxieties I find myself wily,
swapping sound for sound,
as if to put together a whole
different place to reside in.
At times like that I do not need poetry,
and this is a conscious reminder to stop
conforming to the squared box of my daily
reality, and to believe, to believe in a higher
order to all of this math, this give and take
of humanity and its relationships, the
daily division we sow amongst our
selves, the seeds of doubt sewn in
the folds of our brains, the notches
on our spines like bookends on a shelf,
sorting out these fears into little organised
militias, sending them out to
fight proxy wars against myself.

I admit that I am full of anxiety,
but I work on it

I admit that I know that I am anxious
but sometimes it really does feel bad
and I guess I have nothing poetic to say about that

I admit I admit I admit that I am anxious
that this will not be a poem but merely
a thinly veiled rant and perhaps dressed
in the sound of the present’s wrapper
being torn open on a warm christmas morning

Freewriting Explanation: Every day, Valen shall use 5 minutes to write completely unprompted and uninterrupted, letting the words lead the way. There is no end purpose to each piece, but rather, the pieces are allowed to develop naturally in their own way. The pieces are then uploaded without edits.