Written at midnight thinking about my undergrad poetry class, my love of persimmons, remembering the shape of peaches from carolynn's thing, thinking about persimmon shapes and large ones too, thinking about my relationships with others, thinking about mine, thinking about Sweet Lovers of Autumn all the way. Thinking about Spinning Screws, short but full of meaning. Thinking about change. Thinking about easing into loving and being vulnerable. Thinking about being scared of being happy. Thinking about not being perfect. Thinking about accommodating all of that anyway.
This work I wrote while thinking about how I am not ready for a romantic relationship as I am not perfect yet. I am still rough, turned-about, inside-up and wrong side out. I am the wrong kind of persimmon, unripe, stringy and starchy, bitten while soft and sweet but before it has become ready for eating. But I am here, and I am eaten, and I am beloved. Love me in the morning, when my anxieties have not coated my skin like oil in the rain after midnight. You are beautiful, darling, and I am slow in ripening. Adore.
Rapidfire critted by Supercontinent and Gawain while my cat scooted across my carpet like a dog. Thank you so much. Stanza 2 would not be the same. My back hurts and I just woke up.
I loathe repetition in poems but the format called for it. Don't know whether I like it. Doesn't feel like it adds anything. Good to experiment, but I wish it didn't come at the cost of lowering the Library standards.
Felt bad about this work, but I slap away the part that says to hide things. Storing this in Google Docs and letting it marinate for months while I avoid it won't make it better. I think it's beautiful and I'm more afraid of what this means for myself than I am of it.
-Styg
What is life if not the contrast between what has been and what will become?