Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them by clicking here.
Day Seventy-One (July 6th) Heat so heavy it weighs down the spirit. Life so vibrant it carries on anyway. Day Seventy-Two (July 7th) Squid ink can be used as a writing instrument. I like the idea of expressing poetry with the expression of defense. Day Seventy-Three (July 8th) Images of the sky repeating like the mirrored reflection of towering buildings aching to touch something real Day Seventy-Four (July 9th) Childhood memories are painted in shades only available with hindsight. The shadows of the mind color a time when nothing was as it seemed and everything was possible. The mood of youth can never be captured because it only exists in the past. Day Seventy-Five (July 10th) The old way dying leaves an echo of hurt, an aching age that gives way to the growing pains of something new Day Seventy-Six (July 11th) Nocturnal guests do not knock. They slink in through the windows and the cracks where darkness huddles. They acknowledge the unseen with comfort and caress. We are all guests in our minds, searching for the parts of us that feel most true. Day Seventy-Seven (July 12th) All things can be seen in the light. In the dark, at least, the creeping beasties are only imaginary.
I’m offering this project for free, but if you’d like to support me (and get access to our poetry club), consider subscribing. That would be cool.