kiss_of_love__ - Hello Poetry

Remember we used to take the twelve to the beach and look at stranded jellyfish Coming together and pacing our steps Remember how much the dogs in the harnesses loved to fall into one other And then the sky would split and joy crawled up to my lap Cause I love not changing right now Sitting in a bar named after a weapon

0

Nov 25, 2025

Nov 25, 2025 at 6:27 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Harpoon

Remember we used to take the twelve to the beach and look at stranded jellyfish Coming together and pacing our steps Remember how much the dogs in the harnesses loved to fall into one other And then the sky would split and joy crawled up to my lap Cause I love not changing right now Sitting in a bar named after a weapon

6

i need one of those ergonomical chairs for my soul something doesn’t sit right my door is always open and well my door is always closed its the draft the thick streaks of track on the map look like combs tightly traveling through the city picking out lice combing the hair of the streets all american now the streets all checkered and blocked and the night happens to me accepting defeat as the northern sea is quietly carrying fleet.

0

Nov 20, 2025

Nov 20, 2025 at 6:38 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

entry-level

i need one of those ergonomical chairs for my soul something doesn’t sit right my door is always open and well my door is always closed its the draft the thick streaks of track on the map look like combs tightly traveling through the city picking out lice combing the hair of the streets all american now the streets all checkered and blocked and the night happens to me accepting defeat as the northern sea is quietly carrying fleet.

9

The Times New Roman font is scary, it is scary beyond measure a headstrong, opaque font standing on the parapets of the only city in the world the one city featured everywhere and all the time the city never dormant there's no names to words they don't belong to anyone they are free like Borat i do have money i could use to get there and a friend who lives there too but the floor is lava everywhere and the pharaohs in tombs scratch silky with their sandy hands they beg to be let out they scream in Times New Roman as I’m searching for new routes new ways to see my family not the pictures of hortensias the panel houses ping pong second hand sunshine, only light, like pensions for the language spoken in the multifunctional rooms is always written in Times New Roman its the default it's my truth

0

Nov 19, 2025

Nov 19, 2025 at 9:09 AM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Times New Roman

The Times New Roman font is scary, it is scary beyond measure a headstrong, opaque font standing on the parapets of the only city in the world the one city featured everywhere and all the time the city never dormant there's no names to words they don't belong to anyone they are free like Borat i do have money i could use to get there and a friend who lives there too but the floor is lava everywhere and the pharaohs in tombs scratch silky with their sandy hands they beg to be let out they scream in Times New Roman as I’m searching for new routes new ways to see my family not the pictures of hortensias the panel houses ping pong second hand sunshine, only light, like pensions for the language spoken in the multifunctional rooms is always written in Times New Roman its the default it's my truth

12

I keep forgetting something in the other room I walk along a long hallway, past multiple doors, behind one there is an artwork stretched across the floor I walk past three mirrors and a lot of unused storage room like future for upcoming graduates Past a statue of two religion-men in robes frozen in bronze, past a crystal calla, laying on the side, an old-timer and a motorcycle model, past a series of pictures and intricate teaware I reach the bedroom where my friend's teddy bear lies, waiting She had left me it for comfort when she noticed how much comfort it gives me Like when I was howling for my mother at my first day in daycare and a boy offered me his teddy bear I could not even see past the tears, vision blurry until im back bed before work folding glasses I still faintly smell her on the teddy bear, she always smells like summer, like tropical things, cocopeat and mangrove leaf, And then, on my long way to the bathrooms I remember laying in rental sunbeds on a beach at night, stargazing and talking until we no longer couldn’t, and she said this was her favorite thing to do until the tide came in and started licking at the feet of the beds and I had then wished the dark water would carry us away into the long hallways of sleep But we went to the bungalow and waited to get on with the trip and with the tired lies we tell ourselves like little heirlooms as attempts at intergenerational connection into an unnecessary future in a glass cabinet and an unfinished painting of a shaking flower.

0

Nov 13, 2025

Nov 13, 2025 at 3:53 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Heirloom

I keep forgetting something in the other room I walk along a long hallway, past multiple doors, behind one there is an artwork stretched across the floor I walk past three mirrors and a lot of unused storage room like future for upcoming graduates Past a statue of two religion-men in robes frozen in bronze, past a crystal calla, laying on the side, an old-timer and a motorcycle model, past a series of pictures and intricate teaware I reach the bedroom where my friend's teddy bear lies, waiting She had left me it for comfort when she noticed how much comfort it gives me Like when I was howling for my mother at my first day in daycare and a boy offered me his teddy bear I could not even see past the tears, vision blurry until im back bed before work folding glasses I still faintly smell her on the teddy bear, she always smells like summer, like tropical things, cocopeat and mangrove leaf, And then, on my long way to the bathrooms I remember laying in rental sunbeds on a beach at night, stargazing and talking until we no longer couldn’t, and she said this was her favorite thing to do until the tide came in and started licking at the feet of the beds and I had then wished the dark water would carry us away into the long hallways of sleep But we went to the bungalow and waited to get on with the trip and with the tired lies we tell ourselves like little heirlooms as attempts at intergenerational connection into an unnecessary future in a glass cabinet and an unfinished painting of a shaking flower.

11

i wish i could reach into it again everyone looks like they’re from hey arnold and i feel like the catdog how do people make things seem so sad its easy to make someone act foolishly when they are sad why do they not want me to know whats going on i barely do without them i barely know what the weather is once again a cameo from the northern sea i couldn’t come to visit it the wind was so strong that i couldn’t see so i left it to watch itself punishing these lands for their improbably annoying weather i feel safe in memory as the northern herring gulls, for some reason quiet and pensive, glide past my floor in the brothel of my mind

0

Jan 26, 2025

Jan 26, 2025 at 5:51 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

catdog

i wish i could reach into it again everyone looks like they’re from hey arnold and i feel like the catdog how do people make things seem so sad its easy to make someone act foolishly when they are sad why do they not want me to know whats going on i barely do without them i barely know what the weather is once again a cameo from the northern sea i couldn’t come to visit it the wind was so strong that i couldn’t see so i left it to watch itself punishing these lands for their improbably annoying weather i feel safe in memory as the northern herring gulls, for some reason quiet and pensive, glide past my floor in the brothel of my mind

16

I am looking at his laptop There, a rotated sphere is stabbed through the middle An axis like any other but it is his work and he takes a drink Some girl in thin boots passes by as she looks for a seat She clutches her laptop The laptops are everywhere like a silent dignified force I watch My screen It is dark and in between mysterious grease drops and dust particles I see my face Not clearly Just enough to get the gist of what we are dealing with today Not Helen more like Penelope on Ithaca Sometimes I open the map and study outlines of islands in the default format My laptop skills are far removed from making programmed ridgeback Bolts spin I see The reflection of somebody who studies something so superficial I build things too I hope But these things Like odysseys are ROIs in due time I look over to him again His screen is now a chat And a red heart is sent by the other person I look back and turn my computer back on Though lighter I still See myself I touch The screen gently The dent makes a blueish pulse I press A little harder into the glowing screen More colors of the rainbow I see Green in some places I roll My thumb into the matter The screen is buckling the whole library tucks I press Harder The dent is the skin of a rainbow And my thumb goes on top of the matrix I press even more Until it cracks and I can’t see my face anymore

0

Jan 25, 2025

Jan 25, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Ithaca

I am looking at his laptop There, a rotated sphere is stabbed through the middle An axis like any other but it is his work and he takes a drink Some girl in thin boots passes by as she looks for a seat She clutches her laptop The laptops are everywhere like a silent dignified force I watch My screen It is dark and in between mysterious grease drops and dust particles I see my face Not clearly Just enough to get the gist of what we are dealing with today Not Helen more like Penelope on Ithaca Sometimes I open the map and study outlines of islands in the default format My laptop skills are far removed from making programmed ridgeback Bolts spin I see The reflection of somebody who studies something so superficial I build things too I hope But these things Like odysseys are ROIs in due time I look over to him again His screen is now a chat And a red heart is sent by the other person I look back and turn my computer back on Though lighter I still See myself I touch The screen gently The dent makes a blueish pulse I press A little harder into the glowing screen More colors of the rainbow I see Green in some places I roll My thumb into the matter The screen is buckling the whole library tucks I press Harder The dent is the skin of a rainbow And my thumb goes on top of the matrix I press even more Until it cracks and I can’t see my face anymore

37

They’re advertising tick vaccines again on big vinyl tarp When you touch it it’s warm It bounces a little in gentle wavelike lateral movement A few days later, even if nothing happened They suspend the giant insect down By multiple strings, slowly Bad mooded, hooded, brooding interns in chunky handyman shoes roll up the decommissioned plane They leave it by their truck and sneak off to get a snack While I figure out what would happen if I squeezed into the scroll They wouldn’t notice a body in the roll I do it and wiggle my way up to the tick It has a big red belly I observe it’s expandable shell It embraces me with its eight jointed arms and I fall asleep until I find They are bringing the tarp to a sunlit field At the industry district Where the bus stops aren’t named after streets but after factory parts „Decommission Plant“ We melt waiting for our turn in the furnace.

0

Jan 9, 2025

Jan 9, 2025 at 4:41 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Decommission Plant

They’re advertising tick vaccines again on big vinyl tarp When you touch it it’s warm It bounces a little in gentle wavelike lateral movement A few days later, even if nothing happened They suspend the giant insect down By multiple strings, slowly Bad mooded, hooded, brooding interns in chunky handyman shoes roll up the decommissioned plane They leave it by their truck and sneak off to get a snack While I figure out what would happen if I squeezed into the scroll They wouldn’t notice a body in the roll I do it and wiggle my way up to the tick It has a big red belly I observe it’s expandable shell It embraces me with its eight jointed arms and I fall asleep until I find They are bringing the tarp to a sunlit field At the industry district Where the bus stops aren’t named after streets but after factory parts „Decommission Plant“ We melt waiting for our turn in the furnace.

19

Two wide open arms phrygian, pumping with generous excitement preparing food or pouring water I am a stray licking at puddles blowing past the frigid opening hours of anabolic windows drafting out the nutty smoke of tobacco bleeding out into the air I say that I like, enjoy being cold I prefer it and San Fransisco is far, but I’d love to go me and my wet, refrigerated soul.

0

Jan 8, 2025

Jan 8, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Any Arms

Two wide open arms phrygian, pumping with generous excitement preparing food or pouring water I am a stray licking at puddles blowing past the frigid opening hours of anabolic windows drafting out the nutty smoke of tobacco bleeding out into the air I say that I like, enjoy being cold I prefer it and San Fransisco is far, but I’d love to go me and my wet, refrigerated soul.

13

The protagonist is Hope, Mesmerizing, Could it ever give up? Takes the scarf and then the keys, The two different socks are still an issue, But Hope promises to stop. Hope goes out the door, Shuts it loudly, Wakes me up, I rise without it. It goes to work with all the folk, It checks in proper, In and out, Like the wheels of intercities, Reading seams of rails aloud. They're conveniently placed, Right below my bedroom window front. The train that Hope has boarded trails on With scraping screeches Through said bedroom like a joke. Like the Triplets of Belleville, I am the dog, I bark right at it, Hit the beat at which the wheels Shift through the rails As they charge into a whistle, And also hope’s inside there, Nestled, Sitting proudly by the window Headed into the city. You can’t hear the sounds from inside of the rail jet they are muffled, almost pleasant. Hope goes unhidden, Always present, Steady, stuck, Like scorpions in resin. So Hope travels on, Into the city, Travels lightly, No possessions, As it works And drinks its coffee, Jittered slightly, Stamps letters into word processors, Gets a sandwich at the Prêt. The work is good, All good And well And good And well And good again! It’s all so good, Why should it not be? The answer's predetermined, set. Hope comes home with something edible Wrapped in cellophane And surely meant to **** me As I douse it in some Heinz Hope usually comes home at different, untraceable, untrackable times. When it finally comes back, When the day draws to a close, When Hope is folding its attire, Its business casual clothes, I burst alight with laughter, Panicked, I ask again if all’s ok. Hope turns and says, "Don’t worry 'bout it." I scream, Jump up, Lunge at it, Punch the space right where it stood, And hear another train horn fizzle as it whistles through my room.

0

Jan 7, 2025

Jan 7, 2025 at 2:58 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Belleville

The protagonist is Hope, Mesmerizing, Could it ever give up? Takes the scarf and then the keys, The two different socks are still an issue, But Hope promises to stop. Hope goes out the door, Shuts it loudly, Wakes me up, I rise without it. It goes to work with all the folk, It checks in proper, In and out, Like the wheels of intercities, Reading seams of rails aloud. They're conveniently placed, Right below my bedroom window front. The train that Hope has boarded trails on With scraping screeches Through said bedroom like a joke. Like the Triplets of Belleville, I am the dog, I bark right at it, Hit the beat at which the wheels Shift through the rails As they charge into a whistle, And also hope’s inside there, Nestled, Sitting proudly by the window Headed into the city. You can’t hear the sounds from inside of the rail jet they are muffled, almost pleasant. Hope goes unhidden, Always present, Steady, stuck, Like scorpions in resin. So Hope travels on, Into the city, Travels lightly, No possessions, As it works And drinks its coffee, Jittered slightly, Stamps letters into word processors, Gets a sandwich at the Prêt. The work is good, All good And well And good And well And good again! It’s all so good, Why should it not be? The answer's predetermined, set. Hope comes home with something edible Wrapped in cellophane And surely meant to **** me As I douse it in some Heinz Hope usually comes home at different, untraceable, untrackable times. When it finally comes back, When the day draws to a close, When Hope is folding its attire, Its business casual clothes, I burst alight with laughter, Panicked, I ask again if all’s ok. Hope turns and says, "Don’t worry 'bout it." I scream, Jump up, Lunge at it, Punch the space right where it stood, And hear another train horn fizzle as it whistles through my room.

74

sometimes i wonder if i’ll ever forget you get off at rue de la pompe and me at la muette something-something beautiful soft lips before glass breaks there are lightning-like rips there was nothing for me to be angry at colorful versace ad covering a church no i wasn’t perched i was neatly sat for the first time i'd believed that i'd done something good i want to say a witty joke but im afraid to be rude militantly listening in our self-aware age never wear a hat at center stage something i’ve learned behind the scenes watching people act figuring out what it means i'm a raging feminist nici de saint-phalle from that trip i still have selfies this one i took at pigalle i show it to you and you smile in exchange militantly listening in your self-aware age i tell you all i’ve learned as if i’d known you’d come you took out your curious and gave me some no you gave me one another line from a pencil biter a parliament blue and a little bic lighter it falls through a canalization grill slit i try to follow the ground sound to hear it hit we have one lit one for a glowing exchange militantly silent in my self-aware age

0

Jan 6, 2025

Jan 6, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC

kiss_of_love__

Quiet Love On Center Stage

sometimes i wonder if i’ll ever forget you get off at rue de la pompe and me at la muette something-something beautiful soft lips before glass breaks there are lightning-like rips there was nothing for me to be angry at colorful versace ad covering a church no i wasn’t perched i was neatly sat for the first time i'd believed that i'd done something good i want to say a witty joke but im afraid to be rude militantly listening in our self-aware age never wear a hat at center stage something i’ve learned behind the scenes watching people act figuring out what it means i'm a raging feminist nici de saint-phalle from that trip i still have selfies this one i took at pigalle i show it to you and you smile in exchange militantly listening in your self-aware age i tell you all i’ve learned as if i’d known you’d come you took out your curious and gave me some no you gave me one another line from a pencil biter a parliament blue and a little bic lighter it falls through a canalization grill slit i try to follow the ground sound to hear it hit we have one lit one for a glowing exchange militantly silent in my self-aware age

31