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Carlota S Mar 29
A stationary girl that makes everyone else dance

You said
That she is but a stationary girl
whose rigidity provokes the unwelcome dance of others. The solemn waltz. A sultry sorted salsa. But who is to say she can not dance
That she does not dance
A brazen fire of amorphous movement

Temporarily chilled in quiescence

Contained within the confines of a fabricated box
An assembled ballerina chained and bonded to the metallic rod of society’s construction. La construcción tuyo. You need but open the lid to hear my song. To see the girl that both spins and stills.
I implore you.
You must
To the counterfeit steps of the inexorable womb waltz
Carlota S Jan 2021
you thump around with all your glory-
unwarranted authority
masses smile, clap, to great your eminence
masked grimace
before the roar, silence at the door-
the terror mute
no one there to rebuke


oh what it must be like to be a male
Carlota S Jun 2020
when the rigid mass that gnaws at your stomach
is really the heft and poison of a sullen heart
Carlota S May 2020
In the mornings I
think I will accomplish one
maybe two, probably not three

Euphoric peak that
diminishes with the un-
invited solar noon and fixed
Carlota S May 2020
I used to dream in black
A nightmare with a dark hue
Faces fleeting fast
all under the suspicion of
an indistinguishable mask

A world without empathy
Humans hidden beneath
a silhouette of self-absorption
Tenderness terminated by
an uncontested abortion

I'm no longer asleep
Rapid eye movement supplanted by
the torment of heavy eyelids

I stare out into the mean and bloodthirsty chasm of life
Up at the misguidance of individualistic rulers

This is reality
Carlota S Apr 2020
Brains are fickle things
Mine is a skyrise
With fifty floors

There is an open sign
It reads:
twenty-four hours,
seven days a week,
no rest.

Seven thousand zealots
Devoutly at their keyboards
Tap, tap, tap,


Each floor oscillates in rhythmic unison
With the pulse of their caffeine ridden bodies


“Tell The Boss”

“Have you talked to The Boss?”

Whispers emerge:

“The Boss can’t appreciate our work”

“She is lazy”

“Our ideas are worthless then”

“I hate her”

Work isn’t mandatory, but it won’t stop. It can’t stop.
They work too quickly for me.

Robert brings me his last report.

“You are undeserving of this place - of our ingenuity - a waste of its capabilities”

Ashamed, The Boss hangs her head.
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