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#emotionalgrime
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.
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Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 9:52 AM UTC
Kiernan515
Glossolalia with a Side of Grime
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.
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