i would sniff strawberry shortcake’s
hair in my dark closet when sad.
baby’s first dopamine hit. later
i’d imagine someone wanting to
sniff me. being comfort sounded
right. wooden bowl of oatmeal.
knitted blanket tucked around
shoulders. pile of old books.
motherhood touched this. briefly.
rock. sing. cuddle. being enough
for a time. mother’s first dopamine
hit. now, comfort is fog blowing
in and out. i sniff strawberries
but only worry they will spoil
early. too soft. wasteful. words
don’t chase me. slower. slower.
s l o w e r. hide under blanket
with phone. tell me something.
dopamine hit me. hit me. hip
hurts me. comfort turns sour.
sniff something, anything. no,
call me comfort. call me. me.
Officially hitting the halfway mark of this goal. Considering quitting, as things are kind of rough at the moment, but I’m going to keep pushing. Thank you to everyone cheering me on. It means the world.
*50/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic
Such a sweet poem, built around the sense of smell, threading childhood, desire and motherhood into one. It is as if you’re seeking, through smell, the lost sensation of being comforted.
“call me comfort. call me. me.”
PS: Don’t quit. Turning back from the halfway point only leaves an equally long journey, this time through regret.
Thank you for seeing me and for the kind words. Yes, I will be very disappointed in myself if I turn back now. The only path right now is forward. One word after another.
Don’t quit!! It’s a tough ask but you can do it. 😊
Thank you. I’m going to keep going. I know these challenges are the only way I can short circuit my inner critic, but poetry for 100 days is feeling very hard. I’m giving myself permission for them to be short or even “bad.” It’s the process of writing I’m working on, not necessarily an outcome.
Congrats, Bridgette. You are now on the gentler side of the slope, for sure. <3
I can almost recall my sister's strawberry shortcake dolls if I try. The thought conjures up her bedroom at the old house.
Powerful stuff, smell.
It’s really a powerful smell, for sure! I’m trying to tap into those sensory memories these days. I’m sure the next 49 days will just fly by…
I’d hate to see you go.
That’s so kind of you. Thank you. I’m not going anywhere, just navigating some pain and trying to push through isn’t working anymore. Next week I have a few doctor’s appointments, so I’m hopeful I can get things headed in a better direction.
Hang in there… take a few days off if you need it, but don’t quit… I hope everything is ok.
Thank you so much, Greg. I’ve got a bum hip and it’s just getting much worse. Trying to navigate pain while pushing the doctor’s to help. I’m sure it will be better, but it’s hard not having a good plan in place.
I get it… my body is also hurting in places it never did before :\
Strawberries smell good, don’t quit now, Bridgette!
They do and thank you. I’ve got a few doctor’s appointments lined up to deal with my pain and I’m trying hard to be hopeful we can get a good plan in place.
Excellent! You can do this. 👍🏻😎
wow. First, please keep going! I excuse myself too readily and you’re my companion! Second, a very well done arc from childhood to to now-hood. And this line really hit me from the Nowhood: “words don’t chase me. ” I think that’s the nightmare of all of us writers, no? Perhaps it’s just we’re afraid to write THESE words? I dunno. Just my first reaction.
Oh, I like your first reaction. Yeah, it’s hard to keep writing every single day. Sometimes I don’t get a moment to write until 10 p.m. and my brain really doesn’t want to work. I’m glad you are sticking it out too. This poem might be the one closest to the truth right now.
goody! I had to get a little weird yesterday. I’ve started putting it on the To Do list just like take out the trash. It’s helped.
That’s smart. Same. I’m also trying not to wait until the last minute, as that’s never the best.
This is raw, tender, and beautifully fragmented. The repeated “dopamine hit” and “comfort” make the poem feel almost like someone desperately reaching for something soothing while everything familiar has become harder to hold onto. The ending—“call me comfort. call me. me.”—really stayed with me. ❤️
Thank you! This is my favorite poem I’ve written recently and your comment made my day.