Feb 2019
I post this picture with the caption
"Where do unsent texts go?"
This guy comments "maybe there's an afterworld for them.
Maybe
Maybe."
Maybe is a hopeful word
All my poems are an extended version of "maybe", maybe
See,
Maybe I didn't love you
Maybe you loved me too
Maybe the last time you kissed me,
You were drunk on someone else's memory
Maybe the last time I said 'closure'
I didn't really know what it meant
My tongue is a ****** up pretentious wannabe dictionary
I say things I don't really understand
So I write **** lamenting the same **** in ten thousand different ways
'Cause **** me
I don't drink but I visit bars
I met this guy in the bar and he told me he killed his lover
I asked him how and he said
He wrote poems
He wrote poems like 'you're an *******'
Poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Poems like 'who the **** waits for your texts'
Poems like 'I hate you'
Poems like 'I hate you but I miss you'
The guy said "never trust a poet when he's drunk and never trust a lover when he's sober,
Better, never trust them at all
Especially when both of 'em are the same person"
The guy said "I'm no walking talking renaissance tragedy
And you should stop writing me like one"
I said I haven't
And he said that I surely would 'cause I'm in a bar drinking nothing
But listening to his ****
I said maybe
I forgot him and read plath this entire January
Quoting plath from her journal
"Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to learn that love can never come true, because the people you admire like Perry are unattainable since they want someone like P.K, to learn that you only want them because you can't have them, to learn that you can't be a revolutionary."
But see, my love for you was revolutionary
I died choking myself on all the unsaid, unsent things
I took birth again only to love you in this smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world,
Alice-in-Wonderland fable
I brought the sun to its knees, again and again
I ate it up
But maybe sylvia was right
Maybe
I only wanted you 'cause I couldn't have you
Maybe the boy who lived 100 years ago
Was a ******* romantic
Who didn't know how to love without lamenting, so he died
100 years fast forward
The boy still doesn't know how to keep his emo **** together
He wears pyjamas with big pockets
He hides himself in
On weekdays,
He cries and fills up buckets on weekends, He does laundry
This whole thing is a big rant
And not a poem
Because I don't know how to write poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Cause I don't know how a beer tastes like
So if I ever taste beer (I probably won't), I'll gather the courage to text you up
And say 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
But just learn that 'never trust 'em at all'
I know it sounds cliché
But you're Perry
And I hope you find your P.K
And I hope your P.K isn't looking for some other Perry
Who's looking for some other P.K
Cause girl,
That ****
hurts
And there's no "maybe"
in hurt.
"Where do unsent texts go?"
This guy comments "maybe there's an afterworld for them.
Maybe
Maybe."
Maybe is a hopeful word
All my poems are an extended version of "maybe", maybe
See,
Maybe I didn't love you
Maybe you loved me too
Maybe the last time you kissed me,
You were drunk on someone else's memory
Maybe the last time I said 'closure'
I didn't really know what it meant
My tongue is a ****** up pretentious wannabe dictionary
I say things I don't really understand
So I write **** lamenting the same **** in ten thousand different ways
'Cause **** me
I don't drink but I visit bars
I met this guy in the bar and he told me he killed his lover
I asked him how and he said
He wrote poems
He wrote poems like 'you're an *******'
Poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Poems like 'who the **** waits for your texts'
Poems like 'I hate you'
Poems like 'I hate you but I miss you'
The guy said "never trust a poet when he's drunk and never trust a lover when he's sober,
Better, never trust them at all
Especially when both of 'em are the same person"
The guy said "I'm no walking talking renaissance tragedy
And you should stop writing me like one"
I said I haven't
And he said that I surely would 'cause I'm in a bar drinking nothing
But listening to his ****
I said maybe
I forgot him and read plath this entire January
Quoting plath from her journal
"Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to learn that love can never come true, because the people you admire like Perry are unattainable since they want someone like P.K, to learn that you only want them because you can't have them, to learn that you can't be a revolutionary."
But see, my love for you was revolutionary
I died choking myself on all the unsaid, unsent things
I took birth again only to love you in this smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world,
Alice-in-Wonderland fable
I brought the sun to its knees, again and again
I ate it up
But maybe sylvia was right
Maybe
I only wanted you 'cause I couldn't have you
Maybe the boy who lived 100 years ago
Was a ******* romantic
Who didn't know how to love without lamenting, so he died
100 years fast forward
The boy still doesn't know how to keep his emo **** together
He wears pyjamas with big pockets
He hides himself in
On weekdays,
He cries and fills up buckets on weekends, He does laundry
This whole thing is a big rant
And not a poem
Because I don't know how to write poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Cause I don't know how a beer tastes like
So if I ever taste beer (I probably won't), I'll gather the courage to text you up
And say 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
But just learn that 'never trust 'em at all'
I know it sounds cliché
But you're Perry
And I hope you find your P.K
And I hope your P.K isn't looking for some other Perry
Who's looking for some other P.K
Cause girl,
That ****
hurts
And there's no "maybe"
in hurt.
