My girl is a cigarette

She’s a Lucky Strike
She won’t last me through the night

No matter how hard I draw on the conversation
I can’t spark her imagination

There’s nothing I can say
To make her a **** in my ashtray

sometimes i sit and text women messages free
of any ****** connotations.
other times i come across a chopped & *******,
slowed + reverbed out version of a neoSoul song that i love.
she’s blonde and has a dumb thicc *** and
she’s a woman of few words and she was born
under  a constellation of fire.

like i was.

her eyes are nearly unblinking
and they say less than her mouth
but i know
there is a sea
of symbol-sets
beneath those televised eyes.

how am i supposed to weave or write
when the joy is coming for my neck.
time is the measure of energy in motion

so i turn the dial wayyy down.

God is not a time-piece.
God is a flour mill -
shaped like an inside-out hourglass
in the background of XI Jinping’s latest video on
Tik Tok.
“Violent anarchists held a ‘Night of Rage’”
“Violent anarchists graffitied the Hatfield Courthouse.”
“Violent anarchists continue to attack law enforcement with lasers.”

gravity is ******* the feet and
hills are ******* the walking.
graveyards are a hard one for the memory
(if you believe your family is another pile of bones).
at least we have our three deaths to draw on and die.
1st when our last breath leaves us
2nd the last time someone speaks our name
3rd when Zuccman the Reptilian deletes our postumus, memorialized FB account.


where lies the heart of the enlightened without a mirror?
or when the three deaths are drawn and
it hangs suspended in purgatory like a
pack of Newports in the freezer?
or like a stylized hospital mask produced under
contentious labor practices and
shipped to America via air freight
passing over the Xinjiang province where crimes against humanity
are being committed on an industrial scale ----
The Uighurs NEED OUR HELP THEY SUFFERING A GENOCIDE
THEY ARE BEING ETHNICALLY CLEANSED!!
https://www.vox.com/2020/7/28/21333345/uighurs-china-internment-camps-forced-labor-xinjiang

I just can’t wait to get my hands on you, I can’t wait to press you up against my lips, to breathe you in, to feel everything that you do, I want to wrap my fingers around you. I begin to light this cigarette for it’s the only thing I love and I press my lips up against it and breathe it in. You’re nothing but a burning flame in my eyes, I will only love you for this moment, but then I will stomp on you until your flames cannot be seen, until your all burnt out and have given up trying to relight your flame. I destroy everything I love.

My Payless shoes hit Newport ground
Stomping, scraping, scuffling
Through high society.

Talk of politics-
Our coffee is cold
Adjust the thermostat-
Our president is a hero

White walls and cars
And waves of people.
I feel my weight,
The yellowing teeth on my tongue.

I remember
Walking here
When I was a kid.

I laughed louder
And ate more
And didn't wear shoes.

I am a child, born to heartbreak, love, and war.
Like a parade, I dance with friends, learn karate after school,
And when I grow up, I sit at waterfalls with my other,
Thinking about the trees, animals, insects, logs, the lake, oceans,
And the mountain I climbed to get to where I am today.

I feel like adventure lets me travel from place to place.
I get to become a new person with every new destination.
I now feel like the wind.
I last forever and feel different to everyone.

I used to go to sleep to the sound of rain.
It was the best thing I ever heard.
Every drop felt like it had little bits of my future,
My hopes, my dreams.
I think it’s time to get my head out of the clouds.

Boys annoy me. I get sad thinking about how many people I have to give up in order to know happiness, and it’s strangely ironic.
I’ve got purple glitter in my hair and the music my mom made for me,
Told me I could trust people I considered family.
It’s like the real meaning of poetry,
Illegitimate images to imagine a world no real person could see.
The magic of a life with a girl who is able to sit in her big backyard when the sun goes down,
Thinking she’s had a pretty good day and that image has been burned into my head ever since I saw the end of college’s road and I am not even ready for tomorrow’s 8th grade homework.

When I started to think I could be alone, I ended up writing a small poem each night.
They all started with lines like,
“I miss you.
Come back I’m sorry for what I did.
I will not miss you if you leave.
Because I need you next to me all the time.”

A story of a girl who had diabetes. It all started when she was 3 years old,
and there I go. Making up characters because no one would really want to live this life.
No one would really want to be a living example of me.
But I will not leave that same mark for my legacy.
Dad, I think I want to be a scientist now.
I’ve loved complex equations since I was a kid,
Learning about life is so beautiful and cool and everyone will enjoy you,
And I’ll realize that my failures are not a disappointment to you.
I’ll be able to know how to not be sad anymore.
Because science teaches me everything and more.
I am a child, born to heartbreak, love, and war.


These are the voices of kids who have no idea what comes forward in life but will embrace it. These are the voices of kids who are disadvantaged because some societal system has decided they are nothing more that test grades. Here are the next leaders of our free world that have already been turned into scantron results.

You hear their voices and are impressed, but yet not depressed because as loud as they can be, the real world will steal their voices at the age of 18.
They are the only thing between us and anarchy.
They are the creative minds.
The souls we must nourish.
The skin we must keep pure.
If we are X, then they are Y,
And our direct relationship will always be an equation that must be balanced,
Never just an expression to be left unsolved.