Generated Poetry: The Formulation of Love

I’m on this kick where I use a word generator to give me 6 random words that I incorporate into a poem. I imagine I’ll be posting many of these, so bear with me (or not…. this is my website after all. So if you don’t like this, fuck you, go somewhere else to read garbage poetry that stinks more than mine!)

Generated words: Afternoon, Imposter, wept, Serum, Formulation, Deplorable.

The formulation of love can be rather tricky

It suffers from a deplorable lack of compassion

It’s also often ironically witty…

A cure-all serum does not exist

Safe for the hours in the afternoon I’ve wept

Over memories of when I was last kissed.

I feel like an imposter in my own head

Pretending I don’t have these memories

Of you, me, and our love you killed, dead.

For more spontaneous stupidity, follow my twitter @JoyPearson


Word Generator Inspiration

Lately I’ve had a desperate need to write, but I suffer from a lack of inspiration these days. To give myself a kickstart, I used a random word generator online to give me a set of six words that I would then craft into a poem. The words I received were ‘extract’, ‘betrayal’, ‘contagious’, ‘messenger’, ‘union’, and ‘smart’. 

Using these six words, I came up with the following poem:

To extract thoughts and ideas from my mind

Seems so impossible, I take it as a sign.

A betrayal from my hand to my brain

A tenuous union that’s driving me insane.

If I were smart, I’d find hobbies more contagious

Things I can do that will be more advantageous

Someone get a reliable messenger for my hand and head

Before things remain silent, sadly left unsaid. 

For more poetic ridiculousness, follow me on twitter @JoyPearson

YouTube saved me $300 (and I met an author!)

“Life is like a box of disasters, you never know what you’re gonna face…”

-Bastardized Forrest Gump quote by yours truly

I went to bed and woke up in the same state: alone. Gloriously alone and happy to stretch my limbs and taking up the entire space of my queen size bed. I hate the stereotype that being alone is sad and depressing, for me it can be absolute paradise. It’s only been within the last year that I’ve reached a place where I’m comfortable discussing my preference and love of long periods of solitude.

I spent the entire morning by myself, not feeling in a mood to be social, but happy to be relaxing in bed watching various episodes of New Girl and Gilmore girls before my restlessness finally drew me out of bed and into my bathroom to shower quick and begin my makeup routine (Long rambling sentences strike again!).

I love makeup, I grew up vastly curious and captivated by it when I found it in my mother’s drawers and cupboards (I snooped a lot as a child, I blame it on curiosity). Then I went through a strange period in high school where I completely rejected it. I wouldn’t touch the stuff, considering myself a cut above all the other giggly high school stereotypes as I spent my cast on really weird random cat candles, cubic zirconia chokers, varying glittery fruit and animal earrings, and enough books to fill a library.

I loved books, I worshipped any moment my parents would take me  to the store and I could choose one or two (my dad always spoiled me with more, always encouraging me with a side whisper and nudge to get whatever I wanted). Makeup was considered frivolous in my family so I completely rejected it for many years in favor of buying random objects and books.

Falling in love with makeup was a slow process, not unlike how I deal with all of my relationships. Although I was dead set on completely rejecting it, I was still curious and captivated. I was curious by the transformations I saw women go through. It wasn’t until I began exploring my interest in all art and media that I truly explored my passion for makeup.

Today, I spent a glorious hour making up my face into a lovely natural look accentuating my natural features, all of it by my own hand and creativity. You have no idea how satisfying it is to say that. I made myself look beautiful, no one else but myself. I used my own skin as a canvas and made myself feel beautiful, turned into a piece of my own art. If anyone thought I wasn’t, I couldn’t have cared less.

I wore a simple ripped up Downton Abbey T-shirt with a skirt and treated to myself to a shake and drove around listening to music on various radio stations and my phone. I don’t know if anyone else does this, but I relish long drives by myself where I crank up the music and either sing at the top of my lungs or just listen and soak up the sound.

I found myself driving towards Third Place Books, a favorite shop of mine I often get lost in when I’m feeling restless for inspiration and imagination. After a long trek throughout the aisles of the store, I found Jenny Lawson’s new book Furiously Happy smiling up at me with the wide happy face of Rory the Raccoon on the cover (if this sentence seems insane to you than obviously you haven’t read or heard of Jenny Lawson and I am very sorry and sad for your empty days [AKA go find the book and read it because it’s FUCKING AMAZING]).

Upon approaching the registers of the store, I recognized one of the assistants from Emerald City Comic Con. I attend every year, and this year I attended a panel full of strong female authors, and she was definitely one of them! I stood in line struggling internally, my mother, an assistant librarian at a middle school, adored this author’s book, Hold Me Closer Necromancer. But my anxiety was right behind me whispering, “What if that’s the wrong author? What if you assume she’s the wrong person?”

I continued to struggle until it looked like another assistant was about to be free to help me. I relaxed until suddenly the author beckoned me to come to her register for check out. I swallowed as I approached and laid Furiously Funny down on the counter, “Great choice!” the authored said. I nodded as my anxiety snidely sneered, “Please for once, don’t be awkward!”

“Would it be totally awkward if I asked if I your panel at Emerald City Comic Con?” I blurted out faster than a homeless man answers “YES!” to “Do you want free socks?”

The author looked up, her expression unreadable, “No, I’ve gotten similar comments before,” She said simply, as if it was fairly chill and casual. I smiled and laughed, “I was hoping it was okay. My mother is an assistant librarian at a middle school, she loves your books and always sells it to students to read.”

The author (I should mention her name by now, it’s Lish McBride and she is super awesome!) smiled and told me, “PLEASE give her a big hug for me! I’ve got a panel at Geek Girl Con coming up.” I told her I’d be there and smiled on my way out, chuckling at the aghast expression on my anxiety’s face as the bitch slinked away into the dark while I drove off into the sunset.

I didn’t feel ready to return to my apartment, I was enjoying being alone in public (anyone with anxiety would understand how rare it is to feel that way). So I took the long way over to the public library, where they had tall windows that let in the natural light with comfortable couches that I could curl up on to enjoy my new book. I pulled up to a perfect parking space beside the library, glowing in anticipation of finding an excellent seat. I shifted into park and turned the ignition off, but my key seemed dead set on staying stuck in it. I tugged at them furiously for several minutes, staring wide eyed as I twisted my wrist furiously to try and loosen them without letting the rest of my body betray how panicked I was growing.

I swallowed hard when it sank in that I had parked in front of 3 sets of wide windows beside the library where a few people were set up. I never directly looked up to inspect any of them, but that bitch, anxiety, returned and assured me from the back seat , “They’re definitely watching! Not to interrupt you but you should really be aware that they’re judging your skills as a human being! Which you suck at by the way!”

I gritted my teeth, “Fine, bitch. I wanted to go home anyways…”

Fortunately, I could still start my car and drive. While my anxiety was obnoxiously blowing smoke in the back seat, my head logically thought out the next few steps: Get into my building’s parking garage, find a space, try to turn off car and wrench key out. the first three steps were followed through successfully, the last was another fail. I sighed as I called my older brother, who was always my first line of defense when my anxiety arose in the face of any level of impending disaster.

My brother calmly talked me through some suggestions, none of which worked. Hearing my anxiety, he suggested I call AAA, who were likely to easily help me out. Hanging up, I sat in my car in the dark parking garage for a long moment, feeling anxious and frustratingly out of options. I didn’t want to bother my father, who would laugh at me and give me grief for the state of my messy car (which I totally deserve, I’ve got fast-food bags EVERYWHERE), and AAA would mean having to interact with strangers and I just wasn’t feeling up for it. With a sigh, I got out of my car and climbed up to my apartment to do some self-research.

My father always encouraged my brother and myself to problem solve as we grew up, to try and figure things out on our own without any other guidance. At the time it seemed like a grueling frustrating obstacle course, but now it was pure instinct. Getting into my apartment, I went straight for my computer and consulted my beloved butler Google, who served me up a video with a couple of suggestions. I ran back down to my car and tried all the suggestions, none of them worked.

I exhaled in frustration and ran back up to my apartment, thinking to myself that this felt like karma for my not completing my 10,000 FitBit steps for the past two days (don’t judge! My depression caught up to me and left me in bed). I did a few more google searches, growing more specific when I finally found a video made my my new BFF Nick Oldham, who also owns a 2006 Ford Focus!

My anxiety hadn’t completely asphyxiated me with her anxious smoke, but she was definitely present throughout my endeavor murmuring with bitchy annoyance, “God AAA is going to think you’re such a spazz. This is like the third time you’ll have called them this year. Enjoy the judgement!”

I ran down to my car desperately, hoping to all gods and deities that this would work, one website had quoted $300 for a locksmith to remove a stuck key from a car ignition. I approached my car when the thought floated across my mind, “It’s damn good timing for you to start a blog two days ago, this will make for a good post”.

I opened my car and followed the instructions from Monsieur Oldham’s video when VOILA! My key came out and my panic and anxiety were gone!

“YASSSSS!!!!!” I screeched, jumping out of my car and clicking my heels with a little jump as I slammed the door and went back up to my apartment. I celebrated with a glass of wine at 2 PM, I figured I deserved it after all I DID THAT ALL BY MY FUCKING SELF! After a long struggle with understanding my anxiety, I’ve learned to relish the moments I can do things alone without the interference of others.

Too tired to go back out in public, I took off my bra and enjoyed my wine in bed while reading my new book, glowing with the happiness of an independent lady who knows how to take care of herself (but is unafraid to admit she needs help from others sometimes as well). I smiled as I curled up on my bed and cracked open my book, propping it open in my lap as I sipped my wine.

It’s insane to me how different I enjoy my day from other people. I know that for some people, a day is not full and satisfactory without a schedule full of activities to keep one busy and engaged in social interaction. Yeah….. I’d rather hug a cactus every day. I got out of bed, made myself feel beautiful, found a great book, interacted successfully with a great author, and solved a problem all by myself. This day was more full and satisfactory for me before 12 AM than most celebrities have in a life time. AND IT ISN’T EVEN OVER YET!!!!!

In an hour I’m visiting Susan (she’s my mother’s best friend who’s like my great aunt but due to recent traumas we are both now best friends) to watch Miranda and have a giddy time discussing everything we’re uncomfortable talking to other’s about. Like Diana Barry and Anne Shirley, she’s my bosom buddy (If you don’t get the reference YOU DON’T DESERVE TO KNOW ME!!!! [That’s a lie, you can get to know me, but expect a wee bit of judgment/pressure from me to force you to watch Anne of Green Gables {Spoiler alert: It’s amazing}]).

Given the positive flow this day has gone, I’ve chosen to name this the first day that I am Furiously Happy and will continue to strive to be so every day onwards. VIVA LA FURIOUSLY HAPPY!