Unfinished Love

I found these works in my notes app. Most of them are from this summer, all of them are unfinished. I don’t really know what they mean anymore and don’t remember where I wanted to go with them. None of them are my best work but maybe that makes them better. Hope you enjoy.

Backyard Soliloquy
sometimes i feel like
i’m standing under a waterfall
water wind wine in my hair
i’m a drop of water and i’m falling
flying?
skying?
dying?
living?
flying?

silver falcon paper airplane
gliding sliding swimming
lift me away baby i’m ready to go and
i’m ready to stay and
take me back

proximity to femininity
backyard soliloquy
miss me
kiss me
make me free
make me a real girl
make me real
make me a girl
make me me

bird
she screams
they laugh
she smiles
they ?

a brown sparrow flutters
into my heart
buzz and chatter and words
i always loved birds
because they sing
and people
don’t
listen

mommy opens a Campbell’s soup can
american monologue into my soul
can a
dirty
dyke
have a soul?
red tomato soup
her red eyes
is she high or
?

notes on bird:
I’ve always really liked birds. I like the idea of being able to fly above everything and see everything, and I like the way that they communicate through song. I think birds remind me that there are still beautiful spaces in this world unoccupied by capital.
I also like question marks. It’s basically the only punctuation I use. They create so much uncertainty. They make the reader create their own interpretation. I usually don’t know what my writing means, so I think that kind of ambiguity can be valuable when I’m writing.

untitled
i’m grabbing onto you but i’m missing
and i’m reaching out to you but you’re fading
and i just can’t shake this feeling that something’s not right

and i can’t stop thinking bout all the times we had
hearing your voice whispering into my ear
i don’t want to let go of you

and

i’m

notes on untitled:
This is an unfinished song that I started in July for a music theory course and revised in September. I was going through both a breakup and the death of a friend at the time. Writing can help a lot with that kind of thing. You don’t have to know what you’re feeling to put it into writing.

burn
a man by a burning trash can
heating his hands on the coals
a thick black cloud of smog
while the pigeons float above

I started writing this a few weeks ago while reading Haraway I think. I think I’ll finish it soon.