A Gatekeeper

Am I a gatekeeper to my own words? I am.
They’re animals,
Awaiting to be released,
I don’t recognize some, maybe they’re dragons or jackalopes,
Maybe disgusting black beetles swarming,
Maybe bats, some without a wing or a limb.
Once I saw the whole bunch of them in the Biblical Zoo,
The gift from an Australian one.
They received tender loving care,
They just couldn’t leave,
Being cripples.
I am a gatekeeper alright, and remain it, I must.
Yet a voice in me whispers from time to time:
“Won’t it be fun to let them all out,
Unleash them,
Knowing some consequences,
Not guessing others?
Just to see how they roam and roar and laugh and moan,
And tear and maul -or lick all who are in their way.
And are not really mine anymore.
Are the new ones are being born after old ones leave?
Will I let them out or lock the door? Say in horror that it’s enough?
Will I stay a gatekeeper? If I’ll remain me myself, I mean,
For I also am in their way."

*I guess I continued reflecting on the post by

Paul Wittenberger

…about gatekeepers.

Nobody’s really reading me on Notes-but I feel bad writing it as a post and sending to everybody’s emails, somehow.

(btw the software here is so pending improvement-and especially on Notes. Can’t find Notes, can’t find comments, can’t find where to answer, don’t understand why the like sometimes goes to Note and sometimes to the post…in short I hope it becomes better, ‘cause now is a messy format.)

Do I love Notes? Not really. It can be a great tool, and it can be fun, and I for sure like my own Notes -and the opportunity to save and share what I loved or wanted to think about further.

Otherwise I’ve many people on other platforms(not many of them..just FB and a forum) I neglect because it’s not my format or because I’m tired as hell and it’s hard to concentrate or just because. So I already feel guilty. It’s like I left them…not all, of course, most don’t give a damn. Yet still.

Also it’s a rabbit hole as I always end up subsribing to more folks. The thing is-I am a very law-abiding creature, or part of me is.

I mean if I’m subsribed to you/someone-I’m reading, unless I physically can’t this very moment, and then I’ll read later or the post is paywalled or something. It’s like a promise I made and all promises become a compulsion, and it’s more than a hundred of Substacks now-I can’t say I suffer, for it’s very often brilliant writing, or moving mountains within me or plain moving or..(insert your own)…but sometimes I think “it’s either you or me guys” because I’m drowning.

Yet many times it’s a strange form of collab. That other author doesn’t know about. I continue to think and then I write. Sometimes it happens simultaneously. Sometimes it just boils somewhere and then it’s some response.

OK great. Too long for a note. A post, it is.

Also I’d love to know more about what’s considered traditional, and what, modern. In, say, American poetry. Because I come from different cultures I explained; and I knew poetry from here, for example, in translations mostly, and little of it, which is my fault of course; and now it’s my time to learn more. It’s hard for me to know-what is traditional-here, I mean; and what is not. Because I’m, in a sense, a newcomer. What’s traditional here might sound modern to me. I don’t know.

The thing is: I don’t really know anything. I never studied it. Maybe never wanted to, before, for I usually find things to study.

I just love poetry.

I realize it’s kinda a big question to ask. If I’d knew where to go to research it I would.

OK. That was all unplanned. Remember though Chen how you’re supposed no not apologize and all that jazz, and stay strong I told myself.

Be safe, you all.