I really must not pin hope on people who do not (yet) exist; one day, he might want to lean over the table and hold my eyes and hear the personal hell but in the tight space between 60 seconds and one minute, we are still nothing; he does not care about the damning things… Continue reading poem: therapy is cheaper when you’re in a relationship
Tag: orginal poetry
poem: trauma
we are girls tied body to body to music: our headphones like veins bringing the low guitars and lighter wails, pumping in the bright noise that keeps us from dying in locked rooms the memories coming like birds in flocks of heat our arms splitting open from remembering we are not talking, we are not… Continue reading poem: trauma
poem: the artist in hell, justified
she is perfectly halved: she is pouring black paint into the mouths of strange boys, her body all light under the strobe lights, her neck cut into diamond pieces by the sex moans made by singers too punk to be human. And she is reading at the window ledge her feet curled under a skirt… Continue reading poem: the artist in hell, justified
poem: music/video/love
we are here for the unknown, for the possibility of falling in love with people who were nothing just one day ago: boys with odd dark smiles, mars and venus colliding when our eyes touch, the Bold and the Dazzling coming in wet flushes, in roses wrapped and snapping. we are here for the aesthetic,… Continue reading poem: music/video/love
life update: new profile picture, medium
It's probably temporary and I sort of hate it, but it's new. Also, yes, I am now on Medium, re-posting some of the better poems. Let's not talk about how my grades have suffered because I've been writing angsty poetry online instead of studying. Thank you all, as always, for reading! It means much more… Continue reading life update: new profile picture, medium
poem: my father is a sociopath
number the stars, the sluts, the saints: we are all here, in a hell we can't escape. and my father said I was just like him. my mother said if I painted my nails black I would become a heroin addict, a fucking drama queen. can you hear the lights in the city flickering? they… Continue reading poem: my father is a sociopath
poem: the humanists are narcissists
it is hard to consider the human condition without considering ourselves overmuch; she has constellations tattoed on her neck but she is finite, a small person never living. we pretend man has galaxies inside his eyelids, that he is endless, but even the poets are stained, their pretended infinity only an echo chamber for the… Continue reading poem: the humanists are narcissists
poem: la femme n’est pas l’art
the persephone concepts, pt. 2 all hail the romantics: Persephone left the city and walked into her womb. all hail the romantics: she found him in a graveyard cleaning stones with his tongue she is too much spring, she is lonely. Death is kind to the Female, to the lost, to the waiting and the… Continue reading poem: la femme n’est pas l’art
poem: la femme n’est pas politique
the persephone concepts, pt. 1 Persephone voted for a fascist; they killed her in the street. later, it came out that the fascist was a woman. they resurrected Persephone, gave her a medal, ripped open her vagina and sold her blood in jars.
poem: “inside the outsider (on my own again)”
my ambitions are small things, held and taken like pills. I am unstable, crashing like clockwork; I tell people it is for the art, but I spend Monday nights alone: the cats throwing their faces at the well and laughinglaughing at the way the skulls smear. I have plans I had plans There are cities… Continue reading poem: “inside the outsider (on my own again)”
the last pavilion 