poem: apology to readers and followers, Feb. 2020

I am sorry that I cannot write conventional things: you would prefer anecdotes about depression and things that are easy to read, where a word is a word is a word.   I am sorry that I prefer nonsense; that my poetry is so abstract as to be ineligible that what I think is art…

poem: nostalgia, not contrived

the girl sat in her english class and watched the sky flatten itself against the university window, like even the clouds are desperate to get in and learn critical theory. she pulls her sweater over her fingers and silently sulkily puts an earbud in so she can listen to japanese indie and feel like a…

poem: gods at small tables

she walked past him in a red coat. he was sitting in the hazing that comes in the dawn. his back to the window and the world and his soul in his typing fingers, the innocence in him always stark and fresh. his leg stretched out just so, his headphones taped over his ears, and…

poem: college (essay at midnight)

essay at midnight and she is frothing with all the wrong things the economics boy kissing inside her inside his computer script and also him kissing his girlfriend. the cold coffee, just one-fifty more calories with crumbs wet at the bottom. the ripe, nice words falling into her tired hands. english major: that's a nice…

poem: highschool is over (cheers to this)

i am spinning in a blue dress and to first follow him i must be all of myself, not for the matriarchy but for my small ascendence into what He envisioned. this is not high school: strangers will smile at you, later, i promise. Also, listen: the depression and the choas will not go away…

poem: clichés at nineteen

the light shifted grey down over her face she did not put herself into crying she just sat on her bed and laughed at the irony of it all. that nothing had really changed that her only romance was chemical (the dopamine he triggered in her psychotic ticking brain). she's over him now, anyway. let…

poem: stop hoping and stop hurting

stop hoping and stop hurting get out of your head and accept the very aesthetic and terrible life of always being alone. i guess i look good in black, anyway, even if it's always metaphorical (i can't sell myself so cheaply, sorry). but there is truth in the long singular days of staring out the…

update: things are not so terrible

So as you might have noticed, I am posting less now. We'll call this a good thing because I started this blog because I felt like my poetry skills were dying. Thankfully, they have been restored to me (#depression-is-useful), and I'm back to scribbling down poetry in all my notebooks like I was in highschool.…