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)
Tag: orginal free verse
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: 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: 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: vlog #19 winter night self-care routine
people who are in love are desperate and boring. people who are not in love are just boring. the artists and the addicts are self-justifying, living in cities in the sky, living in New York with neon palm-trees. But I am too busy being an Aesthetic, with long black hair pulled nicely into a blood-knot,… Continue reading poem: vlog #19 winter night self-care routine
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: we were the world, at war
hello to the dead years hello to the girls in yellow hats, kissing the library windows and pretending they are kissing husbands. hello to the young dead men in trenches, pulsing with no heat, maggots curling around skullcaps and helmets and dead dreams. hello to the girls standing at the train platform, waiting for him… Continue reading poem: we were the world, at war
poem: not another night alone
these times of year are desperate, are lonely they are spider traps i can't talk myself out of, when it is midnight and the depression is so repressed that pulling it out is de-evolution, fundamentally re-volting to this grand new person i (almost) am. where are the stars at 2 p.m.? i suppose chopin could… Continue reading poem: not another night alone
poem: those people are like art, dead but beautiful
little girl, in the red skirt, in the impressionist painting outside my window: the sky is thick with cocoa beans, the clouds are wild. her mother picks at the flower-dust in her hair. they have halos, they are goddesses spun out in starry nights, relics from when the world was young and girls waited… Continue reading poem: those people are like art, dead but beautiful
the last pavilion 