I realize, now, when it’s too late to bring my finger down rapidly on the “Delete” key, that the internet is not ready for my thoughts to bleed out into cyberspace in the form of poetry. I know I’m pretty much a big nerd, so it’s totally fine; I don’t even know what I mean most days. So I’ll only bring it to you in small doses every now and again when I feel that its time to say things to you that bring out the dazed, glazed-over, I-Don’t-Know-What-the-Fuck-That’s-Supposed-To-Mean looks on your faces. I wish there was a way for me to capture that moment on film and post it here. But really I just like to test the waters, to see if the things I think and risk putting to paper are things other people think too. I want to know if my life and your life share common ground sometimes. Occasionally people will say to me, “Let me read something, Nikol” and then I’ll let them, and then I’ll ask what they think, and then I’ll see that look. I know, sometimes I take for granted that the strange things that gallop clumsily through my brain are common knowledge, so I completely take the blame for this look that I see so often. But it’s still a sight to see every time. I just take my stack of papers back and tuck them away in that safe place, hoping that the words didn’t catch a glimpse of what wasn’t understood on the reader’s face. I would hate for the words to know these things at such a young age. I’m holding out hope that perhaps someday, when their all growns up, they will be published and sit perched high on a library shelf, and some stoned college freshman will trip up a ladder and bring them down, breathing in that smell that old books have, feeling the gritty paper between his fingers and he’ll think, “I don’t know what the fuck this is supposed to mean” before he puts it back on a shelf between TR and TU…not at all where it is supposed to go according to the Dewey Decimal System. But by then, the words won’t be so young, so new, and they won’t care about the look. They’ll just be grateful that the kid didn’t spill any bong juice on the pages.

P.S. How surreal is it that I refer to college freshmen as “kids” now?

P.P.S. I know I’m just assuming that you all made the face…but the thought of you all actually making it gave me something else to blog about, so I take the inspiration wherever I can get it.

I love it when I get to say P.P.

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