meowmeowmezcal - Hello Poetry

Isn't it beautiful that children can admire what nobody else respects? It ***** that I’ve already forgotten how to do that. Obviously, growing up's about eradicating your naivety, but if I could only recall that optimism, it’d be easier to feel ******* righteous. My imagination had promised me that no matter how unhappy or lonely I became as a result of my agency, it would be unconditionally fulfilling - That I'd enjoy a future of downright violent and abrasive experiences. Perhaps one day that wishful thinking will be cute, but right now it's absolutely embarrassing. When I was a kid, I looked up to teenagers who were kinda failures, and I thought they were the **** Now I’m one of those, and I admire neither myself nor my illustrious peers, but if I still feel this way as an adult, I’ll be greatly disappointed in myself. Whether out of jealousy or pride, it’d be creepy to resent the youth. I feel sick thinking about the future. It’s not due to wasted time. Honestly, sometimes I fear I’ve done too much. My main worry is that my thoughtlessness, rudeness, aimlessness, etc. traits that are already criticised, will be wholly inexcusable - That I may not receive understanding for mistakes. Out of practicality, I’ll need to sweep feelings that I've barely even come to terms with yet under the rug. Sympathy has an expiration date when tragedy is abundant and time is scarce, which makes me wish I’d let myself be sensitive earlier instead of blatantly indifferent - I worry that I'll turn into a badly-adjusted adult, nursing adolescent pains.

0

Nov 18, 2025

Nov 18, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC

27/3 What I Said

Isn't it beautiful that children can admire what nobody else respects? It ***** that I’ve already forgotten how to do that. Obviously, growing up's about eradicating your naivety, but if I could only recall that optimism, it’d be easier to feel ******* righteous. My imagination had promised me that no matter how unhappy or lonely I became as a result of my agency, it would be unconditionally fulfilling - That I'd enjoy a future of downright violent and abrasive experiences. Perhaps one day that wishful thinking will be cute, but right now it's absolutely embarrassing. When I was a kid, I looked up to teenagers who were kinda failures, and I thought they were the **** Now I’m one of those, and I admire neither myself nor my illustrious peers, but if I still feel this way as an adult, I’ll be greatly disappointed in myself. Whether out of jealousy or pride, it’d be creepy to resent the youth. I feel sick thinking about the future. It’s not due to wasted time. Honestly, sometimes I fear I’ve done too much. My main worry is that my thoughtlessness, rudeness, aimlessness, etc. traits that are already criticised, will be wholly inexcusable - That I may not receive understanding for mistakes. Out of practicality, I’ll need to sweep feelings that I've barely even come to terms with yet under the rug. Sympathy has an expiration date when tragedy is abundant and time is scarce, which makes me wish I’d let myself be sensitive earlier instead of blatantly indifferent - I worry that I'll turn into a badly-adjusted adult, nursing adolescent pains.

5

Matted beneath frigid backbone pressed into backbone – I knew by then what the ends were made of. At a pit of cornerstone, you were a passing student Of the window opening to Sunday like a reluctant avowal Let out in defeat. No wit contested in this indignant Talking each other off the ledge, no cheating The uneasy feeling making itself at home On those nights I hardly slept, Counting your socks, their elastic bands Still curled up where the feet of my bed stand, Like orphaned pets bested by their docility alone.

0

Nov 18, 2025

Nov 18, 2025 at 12:36 AM UTC

Admission

Matted beneath frigid backbone pressed into backbone – I knew by then what the ends were made of. At a pit of cornerstone, you were a passing student Of the window opening to Sunday like a reluctant avowal Let out in defeat. No wit contested in this indignant Talking each other off the ledge, no cheating The uneasy feeling making itself at home On those nights I hardly slept, Counting your socks, their elastic bands Still curled up where the feet of my bed stand, Like orphaned pets bested by their docility alone.

11

Ten months, or has it been eleven? They have all been subject to impediment by my infallible buoyancy. Soon I’ll have twelve months underway, dense and saturated as gnats in a stale cup of water, because whenever one goes by, I think it’ll stay on the wagon; now, I’m saying, it will the next time; but that by the end, it won’t fall too far off either; which is also probably true. Historically, there has been some evidence to back up my vague assertion. Honestly, I lost track of what I was on about, but… The gist of it is that I’ll never finish what I’ve started. I’ve been so comfortable with failure, which is ironically due to a lack of conviction in my abilities. Occasionally I do wish my heart was in the right place to mourn the loss of each special little gnat, but I really stopped caring after the first one fell in, because I was gonna throw my drink out by then...! This is a really stupid metaphor. The cops seized my phone, & my biggest concern thus far is not being able to access Flo. God, I love being a superficial airhead. It keeps me anchored.

0

Oct 10, 2025

Oct 10, 2025 at 3:22 AM UTC

Cup Half-Full

Ten months, or has it been eleven? They have all been subject to impediment by my infallible buoyancy. Soon I’ll have twelve months underway, dense and saturated as gnats in a stale cup of water, because whenever one goes by, I think it’ll stay on the wagon; now, I’m saying, it will the next time; but that by the end, it won’t fall too far off either; which is also probably true. Historically, there has been some evidence to back up my vague assertion. Honestly, I lost track of what I was on about, but… The gist of it is that I’ll never finish what I’ve started. I’ve been so comfortable with failure, which is ironically due to a lack of conviction in my abilities. Occasionally I do wish my heart was in the right place to mourn the loss of each special little gnat, but I really stopped caring after the first one fell in, because I was gonna throw my drink out by then...! This is a really stupid metaphor. The cops seized my phone, & my biggest concern thus far is not being able to access Flo. God, I love being a superficial airhead. It keeps me anchored.

4

A nascent stutter breaks out along Hives of gurning teeth in metronomic song. Caught in its own tail like some snake – It’s a real long Body full of gear that shakes With unimaginable force, as it scales these Shaved-down rails, impersonally as a hairpiece Flapping atop some bald scalp – It’s a real long Time to be a passenger.

0

Sep 9, 2025

Sep 9, 2025 at 2:50 AM UTC

Well-Trained

A nascent stutter breaks out along Hives of gurning teeth in metronomic song. Caught in its own tail like some snake – It’s a real long Body full of gear that shakes With unimaginable force, as it scales these Shaved-down rails, impersonally as a hairpiece Flapping atop some bald scalp – It’s a real long Time to be a passenger.

8

Bit on the bone-white caps Of my thumbs on-way To you, sober as a shrimp’s tramping Eyes at the end of its stalk. Had a maladious projection on paper today, Of shyness, porous as fog; every delayed Communion driven down the hall Where my blame stays Displaced. Not much to say That’s humble.

0

Aug 23, 2025

Aug 23, 2025 at 12:30 AM UTC

Bitter

Bit on the bone-white caps Of my thumbs on-way To you, sober as a shrimp’s tramping Eyes at the end of its stalk. Had a maladious projection on paper today, Of shyness, porous as fog; every delayed Communion driven down the hall Where my blame stays Displaced. Not much to say That’s humble.

10

Fever with criminal agency Baldly paws at suggestible woods Cursed by the rain’s contingency Patina crawls south of crabbed roots Bean-coiled muscle exposed as barely Adequate plugs in a shallow basin Beach-boiled slugs dilate and quiver For summer bathing fairly by the river

0

Aug 6, 2025

Aug 6, 2025 at 1:25 PM UTC

Dammed

Fever with criminal agency Baldly paws at suggestible woods Cursed by the rain’s contingency Patina crawls south of crabbed roots Bean-coiled muscle exposed as barely Adequate plugs in a shallow basin Beach-boiled slugs dilate and quiver For summer bathing fairly by the river

8

Sleep pressed instrumentally against my pillow’s slighted bladder In its latency my incontinence Rebounds Deep down I wish I’d said a final farewell To the topography of scabs on his pockmarked Couch

0

Jul 27, 2025

Jul 27, 2025 at 5:40 AM UTC

No Relief

Sleep pressed instrumentally against my pillow’s slighted bladder In its latency my incontinence Rebounds Deep down I wish I’d said a final farewell To the topography of scabs on his pockmarked Couch

6

Bigotedly, I held the same view, Pacing a tank domestic and half-full As the airbag now sprung from the hemisphere of my lungs, Stone-hard and hysteric in the cradle of your palms.

0

Jun 14, 2025

Jun 14, 2025 at 2:58 AM UTC

Fish (Out of Water)

Bigotedly, I held the same view, Pacing a tank domestic and half-full As the airbag now sprung from the hemisphere of my lungs, Stone-hard and hysteric in the cradle of your palms.

4

There is romance found in ingratiation, in these chaste doilies, suffering implicitly beneath the burden of ***** bowls. Here’s one, illuminated as a pinball machine when you rattle that dung-brown stain about its shrivelled pupil. Above it, a cataract of steam squirms about in unalarming routine. So many nights I adulterated merely for lack of better days were given credence by the gimpy sun, turned away with its blouse undone, and ****** back to the chalkboard. Somewhere along the past few days I must have become bedridden, indentured to prickly sponge baths by that ****** tongue. How I’d like to stay sedated now. Another day of inoculation becomes an alibi for the adhesion of this numbness inducted to the soft-boiled meat of my temples, combing out my shoulder blades, running down my legs... Stupidly, I almost feel a sense of superiority in not learning any faces among the indiscrete convoys of whitish heads popping in now and then, with the subordinate arousal of stiff knuckles, or other things compressed inward by their own come-hither fervor. “You talk too much, you worry me to death…”

0

May 25, 2025

May 25, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC

Clean is a Doing word

There is romance found in ingratiation, in these chaste doilies, suffering implicitly beneath the burden of ***** bowls. Here’s one, illuminated as a pinball machine when you rattle that dung-brown stain about its shrivelled pupil. Above it, a cataract of steam squirms about in unalarming routine. So many nights I adulterated merely for lack of better days were given credence by the gimpy sun, turned away with its blouse undone, and ****** back to the chalkboard. Somewhere along the past few days I must have become bedridden, indentured to prickly sponge baths by that ****** tongue. How I’d like to stay sedated now. Another day of inoculation becomes an alibi for the adhesion of this numbness inducted to the soft-boiled meat of my temples, combing out my shoulder blades, running down my legs... Stupidly, I almost feel a sense of superiority in not learning any faces among the indiscrete convoys of whitish heads popping in now and then, with the subordinate arousal of stiff knuckles, or other things compressed inward by their own come-hither fervor. “You talk too much, you worry me to death…”

5

Before her, I was South-facing as a loose tooth plucked from sore gums. There is a affinity shared with her In this gloomy hair, like graphite Fingerprints anointed on my featureless cranium; and how Before me, she was Broken as the noon's fever. Her boyish hips fanning out, Abdicating space for my anemone palms To measure their wingspan. Jellylike expectancy Suspends us in a flood of adrenaline.

0

May 10, 2025

May 10, 2025 at 1:28 AM UTC

Relative

Before her, I was South-facing as a loose tooth plucked from sore gums. There is a affinity shared with her In this gloomy hair, like graphite Fingerprints anointed on my featureless cranium; and how Before me, she was Broken as the noon's fever. Her boyish hips fanning out, Abdicating space for my anemone palms To measure their wingspan. Jellylike expectancy Suspends us in a flood of adrenaline.

11