i try to read but stare out the window. everything is raw and warm: the sky is touching lips with the snow. i try to read; i ignore the wet slowly spinning between my legs, i shift in the chair and wait for the boy i do not think about thick, ripe peaches falling… Continue reading poem: the downsides of unrequited
Tag: free verse poetry
poem: the third boy (but i swear it’s different this time)
I did not want to be here (again): thinking only and always of where you could be where you will be where I might go and pretend to study, just to feel your small blaze as you walk through the room. it is childish, probably unhealthy; I might justify obsession in the name of love,… Continue reading poem: the third boy (but i swear it’s different this time)
poem: small chronicle of living in my head
silent, silent girls play at depression, play at deep aching wounds: as we really saw battles, as if our mothers died and our fathers went mad; as if we were raped on cement floors outside cities, men standing at the door and sharing cigarettes. but, really, these girls are too fantastic and too normal:… Continue reading poem: small chronicle of living in my head
poem: how could i be so stupid? but here we are again.
it is his fault: he smiled at me first, stared at me until I looked up and met his eyes; or our gazes danced around, touching, laughing, sparkling, but never meeting. I thought it was only in books that eye contact made the air crackle. I thought I was done falling in love with people… Continue reading poem: how could i be so stupid? but here we are again.
poem: the other black parade
the pretty people are still alive: the girls in white blouses, the boys being kissed from train-windows. I was alive in aftershock: I had sex with ghosts and wrote love letters to the gods, to the dust motes in my hair. I was waiting for a boy with too pale skin and black eyes… Continue reading poem: the other black parade
poem: softer, lighter, postmodern uwu
she is a protagonist: running up the apartment steps, a scarf beautiful and warm on her face, her hair dripping from the rain. she likes old cafes, old music and dead men; she keeps cats, reads books, drinks tea; But, lucky for the academy, this is a satire directed by a foreigner: she is shopping… Continue reading poem: softer, lighter, postmodern uwu
poem: self-love is a horrible culture
the worst thing in the world is "self-acceptance." why do we keep living if the dull people we are today are the only future, the only destiny? I want to one day be bold and vibrant; I want (more) self-confidence and discussions of Kant after sex. I want to weigh 125 pounds. Why the hell… Continue reading poem: self-love is a horrible culture
poem: “exotic” is rude and discriminatory
you are only what you are not. you cannot get rid of the "other" because the "other" is the wide spectrum of things too big and grand for your narrow human soul.
poem: i am not like the others who are not like me
girls in long coats came for coffee but dropped dead after remembering that coffee comes in plastic cups and with plastic breasts, plastic mouths, and plastic sex lives; they could not handle the combination. they were, however, very unique people: they breathed air everyday, read books sometimes and read instagram all the time, and wanted… Continue reading poem: i am not like the others who are not like me
poem: too long for her twitter bio
art inspires art; like fire makes fire and sex makes humans making love making sex, dipping their hands in red and painting cities. I met you when I was a conquerer, I met you and you tore me apart. I was making grand endless forests and populating them with leopards and crying when I was… Continue reading poem: too long for her twitter bio
the last pavilion 