This once
The nail paint shouldn't have chipped away
My desperation hanging like a crooked lip
He doesn't look as good as the man in my dreams
I still fawn. It's all good fun.
This once
I am bleeding after the blood has ended
No celebratory glance or a sweet kiss
Prepare me to be human, and old,
The current of joy and misery,
This once,
Tell me what I want
And I will beg you for it.
A poem came to me in a dream
The words slipped off my lips
Butter melting into
Something rich. I can't explain
Perhaps the food noise is deafening tonight.
What becomes of what's not a taut belly?
I admire my apparition
Will you, too?
My days of reading tell me that
It doesn't matter, finally, it does not.
Thoughts still have the habit of wandering,
Chased by ennui and a greedy mouth
Kiss me with approval. You, you, and
Everyone else.
Preferably in some time I will figure out
Whether I want you to understand me or not
By then I will make a blueprint to be happy
The tears will reflect what that blissful riverbank promised.
Beauty is all there is,
And kindness.
Do you have it?
I search, I stretch across continents,
I search and I come up with mouthfuls of words
That spare no moment and run away
Even as I speak
Even as I sleep.
Stifling is cowardice
Where's the dance flowing through my veins?
I grow my hair long but my heart
Is shriveling up
My eyes hollowed
How do I marry the progressive with the fairy tale?
There are no flowers in my arms
My smile is wilting
I am eating away my aspirations
As we speak.
I remember you every day.
In memories that refuse to fade,
In conversations where I am least interested in impressing the man.
When does this become lighter?
Felt like a sting.
The harshness of spontaneity, when will touch be smooth?
My thoughts wander across oceans
It took no less than a day of breezy salt
That I could be happy
Even a woman like me with an affinity
Towards a difficult life.
He was unpleasant, I don’t blame him
One man’s trash
Another’s fuel for something else, at least.
Don’t you burn cow dung?
No time for jokes anymore,
Despite me shaking and sobbing
We are growing up. I look at my friends
Their soft angelic smiles
We were kids just yesterday
How long till we become like everyone else?
Frayed strings.
My heart wouldn’t bear it,
If I have still one left.
Turns out I am more serious about life
Than I thought I was
And exactly as selfish as I always knew.
In the bubbles of music
My throat is choking with an alarming sadness
Going away is never going out of fashion
Taking off,
Climbing up.
On nights like these when the tears stream
I remember I am perhaps always writing for someone.
How much of my father, mother or my brother
I can’t figure out I am
My foolish claims of becoming an ascetic
Will it come true?
Taking off and climbing away from the path commonplace
Who knows.
An empty plate of readers, lately.
The sunset was beautiful that day,
My first minute in a new city
A rebellious glow on my tired, tired face.
Who am singing for?
I met someone who thinks no one thinks originally
As if that is an original thought
I saw someone happy and I squirmed in a sense of loss.
The sky is dripping down on my absent wishes tonight
My diary is full of plans on how to move:
Forward, inside, and finally away.
Is it a doodle, or a map?
There are so many folders in my computer
So many buttons on my shirt
My fingertips ringing with a future full of work.
My head is spinning as I sink inside my room
Just like I did half a decade ago.
What has changed?
Time tastes like food at home,
Delicious. Simple, rooted on my coarse palette
I will someday really, truly grow up I hope
And give back all the love I get.
Now that I use AI I can hardly deny it
Plath didn't find a God to answer all her questions
But we did, didn't we?
Only that it isn't God
Only that I am a thoroughbred hypocrite.
The sky is still empty,
Apart from the occasional enemy birds
No divine intervention to arrange a coincidence
To help me find my future
Be it a man or a mission.
I want to ask, after all,
If I am so astonished by the strong ugliness
In my pictures,
Do I think I am actually pretty or not?
My life will, like anyone's, be a corporate conundrum soon
I wish to dear God and GPT
May I have no time to
Think.
Mortification is better than regret
You keep trying to tell me
All I hear is that my life has been a waste.
How long do I keep making the jokes?
I furiously nod,
This is not enough, not for you, not for us
This is not enough,
Where is the rock that ties me to life?
My taste has become mediocre and I accept it
With half-opened arms at best
I enjoy a barely clever book
And I hate myself.
Is growing simple that easy?
Now that I am quite simpled out
Where is my untextured joy?
Will you understand if I took a bite out of my brain
Enjoy it like a pudding
Before I go to sleep
Waste away completely
Will you know what it means to be not?
I see so much of myself
In the corners of your breadth.
Knowing who you are,
Your feathers won't curl up
Nor voice die down
I hope
My love will carry you
To streets and alters you deserve to grace
And everywhere else that shines.
I asked AI for a prompt
God forbid a woman has a hobby
A brain drenched in screentime.
You could call it formaldehyde.
ADHD in a form that is popular and not too
Inconvenient.
There is nothing that I am hiding, however.
I shook AI for a prompt:
So desperate to write when I have nothing to say.
mimimusing 