Month: March, 2017


I want [to help] you.


On Self-Portraiture

I am a heavy sleeper,
and yet here I am, waking
up early in the morning
just to get the lighting right.

Early mornings fascinate me;
the pastel sky, the
roosters, and the birds
meshing together poorly and
singing together in awful damn
I like it.
I still sleep through it.

I bring out my old Minolta,
pop open a fresh roll of film,
and give the canister a quick sniff.
They say it’s not good for you,
but I say it’s what makes a photo,
and I think it smells sweet.

Preparation usually takes much longer;
picking from a wide array of lenses,
setting up the flash unit,
mounting the right tripod,
et cetera,
et cetera.

I only have one lens for my camera,
my beloved nifty fifty portrait lens.
The sunlight is my flash unit, and
everything is my tripod.
Bare-bones set-up, you could say,
but it gets the job done,
I like it, I think.
I like it.

The sunlight hits my bookshelf perfectly.
I place a stool just in front of it,
where I would sit.
In front of me is a bed,
and there’s no place I can place my camera
in order to get that perfect shot.
I don’t like this.
Moving on.

Going up the third floor,
I see my mother’s worktable
drenched in the delicate morning light.
I stood where I would leave
my camera to take my photo.
Looking through the viewfinder,
I saw nothing but perfection.
I fix the composition,
apply the rule of thirds,
and align the lines within the frame.
All of which I’ve done with myself as the tripod.
I placed the camera on the windowsill,
where it would take my photo,
but now everything is all wrong.
Where the camera sits,
the composition
the framing, and the lines,
everything, wrong.
I don’t like this.
Moving on.

Who would’ve thought.
An opportunity for a good shot
vanishes quicker than thirty six frames.

I head to the bathroom.
Screw the lighting.
Standing before me is
a reversed version of myself.
I have yet to see myself
the way others see me,
but this is as close as I’ll get.
Not that I care or anything.

Being the perfect tripod that I am,
I fix the composition,
apply the rule of thirds,
and align the lines in the frame.
Ready to take the shot,
I wind the film, unsatisfied.
Wind, release, click.

Why did I even wake up
so early just to fail to get things right?
I don’t like this.
Good morning,
no— it’s good afternoon,
but for me, it’s good night.

i lose my voice when i look at you
can’t make a noise though i’m trying to
tell you all the right words
waiting on the right words
just another lovesick afternoon
black butterflies and déjà vu
hoping for the right words
waiting for the right words

black butterflies & déjà vu – The Maine