Poetry (I think)

I sometimes write poetry or poetry-like random notes.

I recently found this short poem that I wrote when I was an exchange student half a world away from my family:

Hand around coffee cup

rising sun behind curtains

Shaking hand

instant coffee

and ugly curtains

Four walls mean home

Four legs mean horse

Made me smile. I was so miserable there. Every time someone asked if I was "home" or going "home" I felt like it was a bad joke, as much as anything with four legs being a horse. I like your poem, I find myself writing in a similar style. Also not big on sharing anything I write. I feel distance from this old one so it wasn't too hard. I recently read Sylvia Plath's poetry collection Ariel. Haven't read poetry in years, never really read a lot of poetry, but I enjoyed her writing.

I love Ariel so much.

I am reading her novel, The Bell Jar, now.

I actually decided to buy that book and Ariel because I came across this part from The Bell Jar:

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.

One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

I am reading her novel, The Bell Jar, now.

I actually decided to buy that book and Ariel because I came across this part from The Bell Jar:

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.

One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

I have felt this option paralysis my whole life.