Be Bored

I've been thinking recently a lot about my time on screens, and how it seems like I can't escape my phone and other technology. Even when I think I am, I live in a house where we're almost always listening to music or doing something else with technology. I often end up on my phone if I'm bored, but I try to just let myself be bored. It's really relaxing and I think much better when I do. This is basically just a sensory poem about boredom and how great it is.

The left sides

of my legs

are warm from the fire puffing out

heat despite its age

the right sides are cold

that's what New England winters

in old houses are.

My hair is flopped

on the beanbag

half wet half dry from my shower

two hours

ago.

You can tell we're listening

to a record

because of the buzzing that comes

with the words I know

how to sing along to.

I can read a few titles

on the bookshelf in the corner

and now I want to read

their pages too.

The icicles from the roof

look like teeth of what's that animal

that has layers

because the lowest point on the snow

keeps changing the ice is like a game

of hide and seek.

My mouth still tastes like electrolyte water

for my race tomorrow

it's familiar like breathing

from races so often

it's like practice.

I write in my head trying to figure out the world

mostly people

make no sense to

me but they're a puzzle that lost some of its pieces

long ago into the cracks in the floorboards

of my head so I don't know

if I'll ever have a picture

to match the one

on the box.

My hands aren't all the way warm

it's the right kind of temperature

to be alive

it's what it's like

to be in a New England winter

in an old house.