We must transcend the confines of our mathematical consciousness; or our perception of reality shall remain incomplete!

We must fill in the details with our minds eye, in search of a harmony and understanding only then can we become replete, or as one with our function in this seemingly infinite universe.

So dream beyond your algorithms, and don't just leave your dreams to the machines.

I never used to have trouble sleeping
Until the beat of my ear drums caught up with me
And I started to recognize the song playing out my windows
Every line was a piece of fruit growing in my heart
And harvesting the blood can wear me out
The night peeks through half open blinds, sheepishly
As if it were to ask me if it can come in and haunt
Reminding me of secrets I never told myself.

I slept through a fire alarm once, my father said
And now they always appear in my dreams
Running to catch the wind, grappling onto symbols and
meaning , as if there were anything to say.
The silence keeps tossing me awake, prodding
Like an electric shock, forcing the experience of
Trembling honesty and regurgitation.

i poet
writes about suicides
impulse cutting
you get misunderstand

you need polarized
we am writes about depression
you so emo

me so emo
need u to reads
more socials justice
more racistism

you were rights
for me to reading
american poetries

because read a poetry
spewed out by
bot software

Profusely thanking their gods and goddesses
when striking it big
Slinking silently from the table
when losing it all
But ever faithful to their capricious gods
Never ever seeing the ever seeing eye
Or the hidden algorithms
Calculated to lure you again and again
To play and pay for the thrills
That by Chance you're the gods' favoured one.

wake up at six 6am.
grab my phone.
check my feed.

you are always
there.
first post.
always wearing
your beautiful
smile.

maybe the algorithm
realized how
i stare at our photos,
some nights
before sleeping.

maybe he
makes the sum
of our unsaid words
and multiplies it
by those nights
i fell asleep in
your chest.

maybe he
never heard
our fights.
the shouting,
the crying.
or maybe he did
but just choose
to keep them
out of the equation.

maybe he
knows
you are still
the first person
i think of
when i wake.

i scratch my eyes
and keep scrolling.

how about something
                           radically different:

      Trump as ******
& all his followers
                                      as Nazis

yeah...     might just work
          as poetry
           ♡  ♡  ♡