Charles Bukowski, "hurry Slowly," From Come On In!

And it whispers

Maybe I do remember.

The quiet thoughts in dark corners during rainy days or sunny mornings.

I remember losing. Losing against thoughts that snuck up on me.

Is that form beside me a friend? It whispers to me, like a friend would, like we share a secret.

It’s the secret to why I feel like this. The whispers are heavy when they reach my ears. Words with weight to them.

My knees shake. It’s cold. It's the rain. Is it the light breeze? There’s sun. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands.

I don’t know what’s gripping me. I don’t know what’s holding me down.

I can’t stand up.

It won’t let me go. It’s in my legs, in my arms. Weight, so much weight. It holds my hand. And it whispers.

a little moodboard

I take a photo with the old camera out of my mum’s drawer

A quick shot of life

One short silent depiction of how I view the world

I like the old films

Colours not too bright

I’m not good at photography either

Smudged pictures on 15mm

Too orange, too yellow, too bright

I like looking at people, like capturing how life is for them

I don’t like being near them

I like myself on black and white film

Summer Blues

I miss the cold

The foggy air, the gloomy sky

The grey clouds

For a short time my feelings appear justified

When the snow covers the ground

When the cold winds make people shiver

I don’t feel like a burden

People start talking about winter blues

And I believe my blues are less unusual

It’s the dry air that hurts on the skin

Which makes me hope that it’s normal to hurt within

And when the sun comes out

Flowers bloom, people laugh

I feel more alone

Life is art

Art is beauty

Others are modeled

Life adds to them

Builds up their beauty

I’m carved by life

It takes and takes and takes

I’m art

I’m beauty

That eventually disappears

Because life has taken too much

My heart, it soars

Spending not a single day chained to the earth no longer

While my body, it rots

Beneath the daisy field

— Mary Oliver, from Blue Horses, "Little Crazy Love Song"

my favorite lines from this article about poetry from students grades 3-6

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

— Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood