They want bodies.
Warm, compliant bodies. Moving parts.
Hands that open doors and flip switches.
Spines that bend but don’t break.
They want eight hours of labor, plus the commute,
plus the side hustle,
plus the ever-present smile that says,
"I’m lucky to be here."

But bodies need rest.
And there is nowhere to rest.
No shoebox. No storage unit.
No couch, no floor, no friend with a spare key.
Just asphalt and backseats—if you’re lucky.
Just parking lots and fear and pretending to be fine.

We’re told to buy the things that prove we’ve made it:
the ergonomic chair, the smart toaster,
the streaming subscription that numbs the noise.
But where do we put it?
Where do we live with it?
They expect us to consume while we disappear.

They want machines
—but with human elegance.
They want efficiency
—but with soul.
They want labor without the laborer’s needs.

We are the product and the producer.
The face and the function.
They demand dignity at the front desk,
but deny it in the zoning map.

We work full time,
and still live in our cars.
If we have one.
If it hasn’t been towed or repossessed.
If there’s a safe place to park without being harassed.

Why?
Why can you clock in at dawn,
and still sleep under stars you didn’t wish for?

Because they want bodies.
But they do not want the burden of keeping us alive.

I was just a little girl
Watching chaos unravel, helplessly
Confusion became a daily routine
Silence, my only defense
And I honed the art of observing pain.

Day by day
I saved up pieces of disappointment
Until the jar began to crack
Spilling exhaustion
Hardening into quiet rebellion
Sharpening into well-trained disgust.

We stopped looking, even beneath the bed
Where is the sorry we deserved?
Where is the responsibility you clung to so tightly?
Where is all the change you once promised?

But whatever
You're here, technically
And us?
We've mastered the art of needing nothing from you.

I'm just a sparrow
longing for sky
and if I had wings
I could fly.

A sewing needle pulls a red string
Taut against the flesh of my lips
By my own hand I am bound
From my mouth nothing slips


I was on the edge
not of a street,
but of everything.
The kind of tired that sleep can’t touch.
The kind of stillness that feels like disappearing.

And then
a glance.
Soft, unplanned.
A stranger with blue eyes that didn’t ask,
just saw.

No words, no story,
only silence between us
that somehow said,
“Stay.”

One stop away
that’s all.
But in that moment,
it could have been another universe.

I didn’t fall in love.
I fell into the possibility
that maybe, just maybe,
life isn’t done with me yet.

Apenas mayordomo de mis penas,
capitán de fantasmas, me extravío,
me pido entre mis canas y mis venas,
y me ahogo de mí, a pesar mío.

En punto de la hora en que me suenas,
tiempo de estar, estoy y me confío,
y me llenas de arena y me rellenas
de amor y de odio el corazón baldío.

¿Qué hago yo con mi huesos a esta hora?
Desnudo de mi piel y de mi pelo
a media calle estoy llora que llora:

me mira el sol y me contempla el cielo,
me sacude la hormiga trepadora
y me sube hasta el alma el desconsuelo.

It is time
to rise and fight.

It is time
to take a stand ,
for what is right .

It is time
to turn the tide .

Today is the time
to save the world,    
for our tomorrow
    
          or else

there will be none.

For the record
I didn't know we were keeping
I always loved you

And for the record
I didn't know we were keeping
If I hurt you
You hurt me too

And for the record
I didn't know we were keeping
You may have hated my mind
But I hated you

Because I loved you
But I couldn't say a thing
Because you loved her
And you and I were
Something

They call her names,
send their curses through a screen.
She blocks them,
but the words slip through the cracks,
curl beneath her skin.

She scrubs her face,
but the insults don’t wash away.
She sleeps,
but the whispers slither through her dreams.

Years pass.
The usernames are gone.
The accounts are deleted.
The laughter has moved on.

But the words—
the words still stay.

Don't pretend it isn't still stuck
At the back of your mind
Don't blame it on bad luck
You know you're the reason you're
Falling behind
Couldn't you have done more
Held on for a bit longer
Been a little bit stronger
Well now look at who the crowd’s
Laughing at; you screamed a bit too loud
For the pain you've gone through
Why’re you
So weak? Answer me
Seriously
Look me in the eye and tell me
You aren't just a mess sitting in
The corner. They told you you'd win
In life; the only thing you can do
Now is prove them right, you
Know what I mean?
Stop lying to yourself. You haven't seen
Worse. You know
You're fine. So go.
All it takes
Is one step off the edge to make
History. One last breath.
[The admin has kicked ‘Natural Death'.]

broken
                    the lonely shard in a trembling hand
******
                    gripping it tighter
beautiful
                    pain, sharp and real.
bone
                    through skin

veins,
                    exploding
arteries.
                    shattered
dreams
                    and
lost
                    screaming
splintered
                   whispers


end it all

I check the phone

No message from you

And I wait

I wait

For a vibe

For some color

On these deserted days of mine.

I have spent days
beside you and a
thousand nights
alone, dreaming
on the edge of
spineless books
too afraid to jump!
now I find myself,
drinking, dancing,
laughing with the
forgotten writers,
wrapped up tightly
with all their solitary
words, words scribbled
in relatable misery, I have
fallen in unrecognisable
love with their loss,
their lust, their insane
style of adventure, their
relentless drunkenness,
their sorrow, their suffering,
their almost unbelievable
grief …
Clay.M

How to live in
this world
when the world is
wherever
you are

forever is
an excuse to operate with impunity
forever is
a long dead galaxy
forever is
a lover's attempt to lessen their offenses
forever is
our promise in it's final stages

Perfectly sweet
Enamoring treat
Affectionately
Conconcoted to please
Have a slice with tea-

Complimentary
Oh, my heart, she fleets
But thinking of thee
Brings shakes to my knees
Like none other seen
Eat up, and in glee
Return for serve three

Today when I held the pen to cast a spell upon this empty sheet, I found myself getting defeated from the world that surrounds me.
With innumerable wonders around me, I find my words trembling seamlessly,
And as I look for my muse, I find myself neglecting the exceptionally aligned nature, just a dewy view.
Stars that aren’t as pleasing as before,
Prosaicness that gathers me makes my heart sore.
This mundane night isn’t as poetic as it was yesterday, just an empty soulless ray.
This ink doesn’t cast a beam, this sheet can’t make my eyes gleam.
Those swaying trees which resemble the approaching spring aren’t the cause for the poetry I bring today.
Because my shaky hands are making my pen stumble today, maybe my heart had only this much to say.

Resurgam

Prophecy spoke full healing,
I believed it to be in this world;
But alas, I conclude now, with deeper understanding,
It shouldn't be so, but done in the new world
What lies within, surpassing time: everlasting.

a stream is a river is a sea is an ocean
a cycle of water breaks free from the same waters
and if anger is the conditioned emotion
we follow same circles, same eldest daughters

Priceless to me

And I guess there is a truth
in what they say.

That you will break my heart
in many ways.

And you did, so well,
in rhythmic tunes.

You have broken my heart
too good, so soon.

I will tell you something—
What hurts the most:
I look in my shower and can't see your towel.
I smell the sheets, but they don’t carry your scent.
I miss you like crazy,
And I only have the walls to vent.

I want to scream and come running to you,
To feel your sweet lips on mine,
To feel your arms around me too.

Oh God, I miss seeing her in the morning.
Help me to cope—
It feels like my soul was ripped,
And my brain just needs dope.

My mouth is a magpie.
I collect syllables like shiny things
and scream them into soup.

Alphabet in disarray.
Syntax on fire.
Verbs wearing fishnets.

I said please but it came out pyre.
I said love but it burned at both ends
and tasted like lightning bugs
smothered in saran wrap.

This isn’t poetry.
It’s a word riot.
A sentence rebellion.
A grammar glitch in God’s inbox.

I built a language out of side-eyes and stutters,
called it flinchlish.
Conjugated heartbreak like it was Spanish.
(I hurt, you hurt, we—
don’t talk about that anymore.)

Sometimes I write elegies in emojis.
Sometimes I tongue-twist psalms into punchlines.
Sometimes I just scream into Google Docs
until it autocorrects sorry to spine.

My voice is a thesaurus
spun too fast in a washing machine.
Everything comes out wrinkled,
wet,
a little more
mine.

your trust is truthfully misplaced
my acts, are falsely praised
i feel my brain being stretched
from the inside out
my rotting flesh
has an unbearable stench
the squelch of my remains
my blood, a liquid courage
or an act of self-sacrificing cowardice?