the moths on the backs of my hands will not answer me; they sit mute and flutter at the traffic. once again, I've made the wrong decision: whose idea was it, to come here and wait for him, to run a waterfull over the chairs and tables to let him see the desperation, the dark-blood… Continue reading poem: love or lust? saint or whore?
Tag: life
poem: crush
you were not supposed to do this to me. this is not fair, this is not what I wanted. please get out of my mind and stay brilliant somewhere else. Don't you understand? Everywhere you are and I am, there is so much in the air, I cannot breathe: Color still chokes. soft death is… Continue reading poem: crush
poem: “guess what? i’m not a robot”
what we have is not social justice, it is not even justice. i am sitting alone on the ground, there is blood around my legs and you are gate-keeping, putting your hands between my brain and my spine and pulling out the pins, tacking me up like a dead flower, a dead girl, ice cream… Continue reading poem: “guess what? i’m not a robot”
poem: girl waiting alone for her lover, at dusk
I am watching the trees catch Darkness, the cupped hands, the branches, all shaking; feminity is caught tight in the branches, the men are earth and sea and sky. Night stumbles into the foreground; she is drunk, she watches her enthronement: the earth laid thin, dyed with falling eyes, faded mirth, coughing angels. This… Continue reading poem: girl waiting alone for her lover, at dusk
poem: the downsides of unrequited
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
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: confessions of a teenage elitist
i like being misunderstood. but i am not that complicated: i think am better than you because i think about grand things in the shower and you only stare and smile, your eyes drained out, your mind running clear and fast and going nowhere. i have various complexes: childhood trauma, childhood poverty, childhood isolation. i… Continue reading poem: confessions of a teenage elitist
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: 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
the last pavilion 