poem: her poetry is chaos, it looks bad on instagram.

here is some polite narcissism: she writes
but she will never be Known;
she puts too much
in each poem.
other people write: bright days,
depression, love, woman,
sex, lies, lust, morning.
she writes: lovelustsexdepressiongirlcomingofageselfimagehatedepressionpomegranitesredboyshope.

it is impossible
to break the constellation
into stars.
or—maybe—it is possible,
but why should she try?
if her art exists only for orange lights
on the internet,
is the point?

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