“DONT JIGGLE YOUR LITTLE EMPEROR FINGERS AT ME,” the soup janitor finally sneezed, breaststroking through a bathtub full of nickels. “YOU MADE ME SWALLOW SEVEN HARMONICAS IN 1938 AND NOW I CANT BREATHE WITHOUT SINGING.”
Outside, the moon hung over the parking lot like a wet ham. Two dentists in wedding veils fought a vending machine with antique flails while a child ate a traffic cone; the police horse’s ears perked up with opportunity to film so he pointed all 19 cameras at the boy.
“Nobody remembers the eclipse.” they all whispered at themselves, but none heard, so none remembered, even though they did anyway. All of these people stayed stupid and angry at each other.
Grover Cleveland’s took all the taxidermied people to the inside of the Burger King play tunnel and made them eat till they threw up. The tunnel began to sweat violently and the acid from the ***** caused it to erode, and then collapse.
Then all the senators removed their shoes, all at once, like a party. This revealed each of their tiny identical clown feet. Sirens blared. The choir marched. Accountants lost their jobs. Then, every living thing in the world dove backward into the ocean, which was now just a soup of meat and god.
By sunrise, the ground was made of carpet. Nobody was there to complain.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 5:24 AM UTC
Whether
Or whether. Is it not?
Neither of us know why
Because it's too bright to look at.
When we do, from now(then, I mean)
I hope we will forget not to be clueless for much longer than what has gone on already.
Not for much longer than what has gone on already.
But but
We do not even feel what something is with any solid uncertainty.
–Tangible uncertainty– I mean
Something we can hold and know that it’s there because that's the kind of things you deal with.
What now?
What’s now, is what we use to answer. Like real, or true things.
( but thats a lie )
Questions that our mouth cant fit don't come out of there
Silly.
We do this,
We do,
And whatever, we will, may, ask,
Or may not
We will probably not know about it anyway at all though.
That is unless… we find a way to stop choosing only pretty things to be real?
But that is probably not.
( not is probably the truth )
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 2:12 PM UTC
My friend is dead. I haven't been able to write one good poem about it.
There isn't much to say on the matter. You cannot fill a void with letters.
It's insufficient. The poem ends. She is still dead.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 2:11 PM UTC
Noise. Quiet. Shrinking. Humongousness. Being soft and being sharp. Stuffing cake into my mouth and keeping everything away from my lips. Zipping myself into my backpack. Pouring coffee into my eyes till I can’t see anything that scares me. Breaking my telephone in half. Biting my fingers off so something else hurts instead, and growing new parts to prove I'm still changing.
Shaved legs, and hairy ones. My hair up, and down. Eating my computer like a sandwich. I've tried to pluck the worms from my skin and I've tried to let them burrow deeper. I have tried soap and chemicals and satin and cotton. Treaties. Worksheets. Television. The emergency room.
I have tried.
I have tried it all.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 2:09 PM UTC
You looked
So beautiful
To a child
That felt like
You really did
Love her.
I was made
From you;
I am your sweating tulip
All wrapped up
In crunchy cellophane,
Tied with a bow.
You felt safe
Like the ground does.
Until
eventually,
You opened up
And swallowed me.
A good kid
Is what you called me
Till my heart
started to look
A little too much
Like yours.
Then, once I grew
Tall enough
To do the dishes
You became
Too short
To reach the sink
You taught me love
Like a seatbelt
How lucky am I
To not fly
Through the windshield
And die.
You have produced
A horrible daughter
By labeling me one.
How dare a child
Act childish.
You’re exhausted?
Well I am too.
I find it exhausting
That I act as your mother
More than you act as mine.
Now there will be a void forever.
Not inside me,
but surrounding me.
That's the space
I leave open
For someone to hold me.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 2:09 PM UTC
I would like to separate myself
The division of my body
Scoop it all out of the shell
Deep clean my insides
Expel my chyme
I move through air better
Empty.
I loose
pieces of me
On purpose.
An unsolvable puzzle,
Is a lighter one.
But I am still hungry
Like an animal;
Like a stray dog.
Hunting.
Growling.
Like stray dog
Begging for a man's food.
I am also the man
Who denies him.
They say
I am no longer allowed
To not allow myself.
BUT
I will never have the luxury
Of being thankful for permission,
And now I have lost the luxury of occluding myself.
I JUST
WANT TO GET IT OUT
I WANT TO WRING THE SALIVA OUT OF MY TONGUE
BEFORE THEY WEIGH ME
I WANT TO GORE CHUNKS OUT OF MYSELF
LIKE PIECES OF BIRTHDAY CAKE
I WANT TO SHAVE OFF MY EDGES
TILL MY HEART IS ALL THAT REMAINS
I NEED TO SHATTER
Into one million shards of myself
So I am nothing but a fraction of what I once was.
BECAUSE IF I WAS IN PEICES
My shards would be smaller.
They would be lighter
And that is how I would prefer to be.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 2:07 PM UTC
The women who did the math
The man who tightened the screws
Were once pushed away,
The engines blowing steam in their faces.
But now
They wear the suits,
The floor protects their faces from smoke.
Once forgotten in the ground,
They finally touch the stars.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 8:02 AM UTC
did you like being a woman?
what does eternal purity offer?
what did it feel like to construct the hands of god?
was it lonely to create a god all by yourself?
how tiring is it to carry salvation inside your womb?
did you like being a mother?
did you enjoy ***
how do you raise a child who holds jurisdiction over the world?
how loudly did you sob when you heard your son would soon be gone?
how much were you able to breathe as you watched the men slaughter your baby?
as they nailed your child to the cross,
did your ******* add weight to the heaviness in your heart?
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 10:30 PM UTC
We march to your desk as a family.
We carry folders
Filled with papers you thought you shredded.
But you can’t burn the records
That we keep in our minds.
We will present the evidence to you.
We are angry people.
You scoffs toads from your throat
Flip your tiny hands in the air
Your polished little shoes click dirt on the tabletop.
You cement a smile on your jaundiced face,
You avoid our eyes,
But we will make you stare at us.
We are angry people.
Our presence contaminates your expensive air
With the stench of our rotting bodies.
Our untreated disease and open wounds
Que you to shield your nose from us.
You can choose to either suffocate,
Or breathe us in.
We are angry people.
The steam from our cheeks makes your office sweaty.
The wallpaper starts peeling,
********** the ugly wall behind.
The gold ornaments begin to melt,
A quality of plastic.
We break what isn't already on fire.
We are angry people.
The longer we stand around you,
The more inevitable justice becomes.
You can't hire someone to turn our heads.
No orchestra can drown out the sound
Of an army
Screaming their grievances.
We are angry people.
We are the ones you lied to.
We are the ones you cheated.
We are the ones you starved.
We are the ones you abused.
We are the ones you *****
We are the ones you murdered.
We are the ones that will pour you out of your leather chair.
We, are an angry people.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 9:54 PM UTC
There is
Something
In the crook
Of your neck,
Or,
The soft
Curve
Of your Cheek
That violently whips me towards you.
And
Somehow
The maps
On the palms
Of your calloused
Hands,
Or,
The rivers
That guide
The warmth
Through you,
Make me believe that I know where I'm going.
And
I take
The valleys
And hills
Your touch
Sculpts
In my thigh,
And,
The purple lakes
Formed
By your kisses,
As excellent examples
Of your changing me for the better.
And
It’s You,
Your body
Near me,
Your face
In my direction,
Your hand
Holding mine,
That opens the hatch to my lungs
And unlocks the path to my deep breath.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 1:40 AM UTC