impulses.

It took me a long time to think, suddenly, I need to make a blog with my real name. cough. (assumed) real name. New real name? Anyway, it's 12:16 am in the morning, I haven't gone to sleep, my roommate is beside me with her matching laptop on the couch in the middle of our kitchen (old roomie moved out, took all the furniture, and you know what, who cares?) and our stinky cat is asleep between us. 

I've been studying for a couple hours, coming up with terrible ideas for another few. In any case, I feel a special kind of need to post this;

darkly by myself
i cry mildly like
one whole cluster of ladies.

--which begins the first stanza of the last poem I told myself I would ever, ever write. Because I was 18 and I decided quitting something, that you liked so much, and were so, so angry at, really meant something. --I certainly haven't written any new poems. Intentionally.