In my Downtown LA apartment, I pace back and forth with thoughts of future endeavors running through my brain;
I should be traveling
I should be writing
I should be writing I should be writing I should be writing.
Poetry doesn’t sell anymore what am I saying.
Maybe I should work on fiction;
I’d rather die a poet than trying to survive as a novelist.
Lately I’ve been sitting in my yoga poses, deep in contemplation.
It makes me anxious when I think of all the things I’m not doing though my whole purpose is to tell you to Be Here Now.
Instead I’m the one who’s over there, later.
As I watch the people come and go with my zine in hand, I wonder if our hearts ever meet at a point through those pages.
I think about projects I may never start, or some I have started but don’t want to finish.
It’s sad to be alone at 21 with nothing but your thoughts and a paper and pen, yet I still seem to make it work.
I imagine myself writing some column for The New Yorker or maybe even the Downtown LA Weekly; but I’ve never been that much into journalism.
If you haven’t seen yet, I’ve already released 2 poetry collections on my Wattpad since I turned the big 2-1.
One, a finished product filled with my thoughts of growing up while the other is an open journal updated frequently with random poems and writings.
I’ve been trying to find a way to get back onto the blog but with a better approach in which I can stay committed to it.
Until then, I try to write as much as possible while serving LA their weekly meals and coffee.
Cheers to 21!