My eye is twitching always
It didn't before
I wonder if something changed

my girlfriend
told me I needed to sit down
                                                  before hearing it
her sylphlike fingers hovering over
                                                            ­my cut-up cuticles
with eyes hovering past my head
                                                          un­committed
but convincingly connected to my soul
                                                            ­      immovable

just then
Unidentified Flying Objects
                                                crashed into our chat
through the tense atmosphere
                                                   and down to where we sat
their gaze lasting light-years
                                                 and blasting neon beams
into the split ends of my hair
                                                  setting fire to my precious dreams
and splattering brains onto her mini-skirt                                                       ­           
                                                     ­                   it was an ugly affair

to end
if i were alive
                        to recount their excursion
i'd add she stepped over
                                           the ****** matter
hopped aboard the mothership
                                                       with no coercion
and was never seen
                                  without her extraterrestrial lovers
again

Pretty as she was,
She could be strange at times,
Her laughter, loud whether happy or sad,
As if she didn’t care for the world’s chimes.

Crazy for tea she was,
As much as I was crazy for her.
Sipping, slurping, making sounds,
Once my favorite song to hear.

Clumsy, yet delicate,
Her small hands, so fragile they seemed,
But she'd ruin their beauty, eating like a hamster,
A scene I cherished, like my favorite dream.

Focused when she worked,
Lost in thought, her eyes on the screen,
While mine, unable to turn away,
Were only fixed on her serene.

Yet sometimes she'd catch me,
Annoyed by the way I stared.
"Reason for your smile," she'd ask with a glare,
"You are," I'd reply, but she'd call me a liar, unprepared.

Her songs, they didn’t match
The beauty of her face,
But I listened anyway, smiling,
Lost in her peculiar grace.

She loved feeding dogs,
As I loved watching her care.
I stood guard, content to hear
Her laughter filling the air.

She hated cats, she once confessed,
And yet, resembled them so much,
Still, she named one she wished to see,
A contradiction, tender to touch.

Scared of falling hair,
I teased her, "I’d love you even if you went bald."
Annoyed, she’d glare,
And content, I laughed, so enthralled.

Afraid of the dark, she was,
Tears filling her gentle eyes.
So I took it away, holding it close,
To keep her safe from its lies.

She wished for many things,
While I wished only to see her for eternity.
Unaware of how she changed me,
Leaving a mark on my heart, forever free.

I got a little book,
A LifeLog I've put
All the aggregated data I can collect.
I buy up every market share I can get
And run my little freak simulations
Where I stimulate all of life
Because I'm such a ******* coward
And obsessed with control.

What started small
Now extends to everyone
Without a concern for your privacy,
In ways wholly unconstitutional.

I will find the place
Where the weirdos go
To be among my people

The strange, the unappreciated
Too brilliant or too insufferable
To live in polite society

I will join them in the trash heap
O carelessly discarded treasures!
And be an unfit queen

my passion is broken;
i spend my days and nights
knitting, organizing,
drinking, waiting

writing poetry hasn't ever felt hard
so maybe it's the zoloft, maybe
it's the dull repetition of days
the humdrum chaos of getting older

i want to be kissed, hard
and deep and long,
by someone with strong hands
and unwavering concentration

i am happy and quite sad
and quietly fulfilling my duties.
i'm typing this at my desk
and it feels wrong and bad

my therapist told me the antidote to burnout
is variety rather than rest--
so let the various archbishops of my life be told
that i am so ******* tired

there is a man here, he is broken,
but in his eyes there is passion,
and in between my thighs there is fear,
and i'm absolutely frozen

so tonight i'll drink,
and knit, and write e-mails,
cross my fingers and pray,
that something magical happens

Am I supposed
To be here?
This doesn’t feel—
This doesn’t feel—

real.

I’m sleep-walking
Through a lucid dream.
It’s so, so loud.

I don’t hear anything at all.

My mind is only
Television static.
Why can’t I—
Why can’t I—

𝘉𝘶𝘻𝘻.

𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘱.