"My style ignorant. My style Chet Hanks"
Watching the scenery change at a comatose rate
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Can we all hatch and start from eggs? I live inside the After Hours one bedroom apartment. Pink mod walls and entirely sexy… if you’re into little girl voices on adult women. My whiteness, my childlessness, or something political sounding, let’s me carry around a water bottle perpetually Care Bears theme. I’ll die in my own rainbow for certain. The » Continue Reading
— 2 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Very stagnant air. Very sore inside this concave of cracked and peeled lips. A goldmine for any in search of a missing pretty ruby or amethyst. Voyagers willingness earnest or very reluctant in their truest truth of sought after mutuality there. Also there. And don’t forget right there. These rhinestones of mine forget I’m selfish under all this makeup I pretend to we » Continue Reading
— 6 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
"Turn it off" he says. "Go for a jog!" Punishment or pleasure? Either way, it will slosh and shake up the little devils with matching pitchforks inside my head just like the Titanic! I sleep in a bed of unmade art. I sleep in a bed of unfucked. A Tombow pokes my lower back. Encourages prayers I haven't recited since I was three years old in bed with my mom » Continue Reading
— 4 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
It's not what you think...he scrawls inside a notebook I've been keeping or hoarding for that one-day-apocalyptic-ending. Where a notebook or diary would come in handy. Documenting hard trial and tribulation is important after all. It makes you forget about your starving for more and more and more. I want to wipe away the single tear from his eye even still. » Continue Reading
— 6 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
The foot of my sandal tries to skip over every crack in childish penance. Nature that survives despite urban reconstruction of her natural beauty always » Continue Reading
— 7 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
One black, one white, one soft. What does it fucking mean to have no time for anything? It's sort of like when I was younger... Make them kiss, make them social blunder and curse. They're just plastic. The shoes are most enjoyable to put in your mouth and chew on. Independence and choice are not things typically branded on my ass » Continue Reading
— 4 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Accelerates the playback speed of footage partly damaged by rain water and consequential mold. I'm breaking him down like carbon. I'm stepping barefoot on his soul. I wait for no one but I still feel deep inside me someone, anyone is coming. It's why I can't kiss gently. The fucking urgency of maybe being left untouched for eternity... or twenty whole minutes. » Continue Reading
— 4 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
I can drink gallons coffee, I'm pregnant somehow and the fetus is predetermined to cure all cancers and environmental set backs accumulated by the earth's youngest living residents. I'm entirely independent, a career lady with a humble background which does not allow for boss bitch to consume her entire identity. Because I make art still after all. Little junk journals, inside are my poetry woes o... » Continue Reading
— 8 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
I could be her mother. Blue orbs of lightning love promise. I could be her mother. » Continue Reading
— 1 Comment— 8 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
Initial introductions claim "middle child energy" Insisting to all of them I still need a mother and a fresh made dinner when I return home from travels of indecency. If my father was not unalive he would not find me cute as he did on VHS tape. Deadpan faces I made into the camera; clueless to what's to come. A man with headgear filming you feels so quaint now. I'm tired. » Continue Reading
— 1 Comment— 12 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
I eat my hands so they don’t stay idle. The metallic skin between my lips » Continue Reading
— 8 Kudos
Category: Writing and Poetry
She surprises me. I often feel the bottom of her heel dig mercilessly into my mind. Never a mutual grappling of how to mesh stark contrast differences and languages taught young. But somehow neither of us are very fluent in the other’s native tongue? I sometimes forget I lived almost a full year under her heart. I didn’t ask for it. But I don’t think she really did either? » Continue Reading
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