#font
It felt weird
when my heart
left its type
and fell
for a whole
new font
that read
differently
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:37 AM UTC
In fog or flood,
it has to look like news
and not wear down too soon,
not be abandoned at the shipyard;
hunt-and-peck it to death,
it remains invisible, so readable
that it does nothing to draw
attention to itself,
leaving only the content
in its lapidary wake.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 10:04 AM UTC
whatever i do
will always waste my life away
at least that's what you say.
i guess you managed to sway
me onto your side.
because i'm not doing anything i want
to do at this point.
you've made me use another font
to write my life
instead of the messy handwriting
that i'm supposed to use
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
You do the printing
I will do the cursive
Let's get entangled
And generate our own
Fancy script
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 1:12 AM UTC
a __manuscript__ set forth
erors _sprawld_ acros
every single page
t̾e̾a̾ stains spot it
where it lᵢₑs fₒᵣgₒttₑN
on your desk now
half finished __here...__
c h o p p y sentences
full of m̴i̴s̴t̴a̴k̴e̴s̴
marked up in RED
there are _improvements_
_little notes_ jotted down
between the margins
___waiting for action
as you steep a cup
to string it together___
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 7:53 PM UTC
Let me feel the tremble in your body when you cry.
Ill hold you close like there is no world around us.
No star, no burning sun could dampen your light.
You're a flame that burns too bright for this earth.
Let me break my heart into a thousand pieces so i may love you with each fragment.
I can't continue with you, and i can't continue without you.
My kitchen tiles know the taste if my tears as I lay, pining for you early every morning...
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 6:12 PM UTC
She is the typesetter’s “e”
The once-rounded uncial script,
Unbroken like the solemn vow of a monk,
His whisper, a shepherd of words under the cowl,
Murmurations of the Holy Mother to the lambswool shroud of candlelight.
His candle-flock of dreams to some hill of penitent towers, war-cowed
And broken open like faith-unfended helmets, littering the ground,
With their unspeaking tassels in babbling pagan sound of wind,
That hill too, once-rounded bare under the glittering apostles of twilight.
In the abbeywork of air, calligraphy was a cipher of souls,
He unwrested demons from an inkwell of sunsets, smothered them in blotting paper,
Freed the incarnate whole to the book of hours, nib-pointed in quills and illuminated in gold,
Line by line, in Carolingian winding sheets, he returned the misshapen to the fold,
To the carpet page of home and the warm ligatures of their waiting women.
So the shutters of the heavenly house could blow light in slanted rays to a wilderness in storm.
But he never tamed the aero-elongated, descender of Troy in a “t,”
He never knew the unholiness of the underscore or fonts as ******
Or the world unwilling to know itself in serif robes of ancient lore.
His life was a simple rounded-out syllable of one man,
Left in the muddied, unintelligible text of faith and war.
She is the typesetter’s “e” and now belongs to any hand.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dear technology,
You replaced my emotions with emoticons
Voice with fonts
Love with likes
Compliments with comments.
You make distance seem so close
But you have no sense of touch
For you overrode internet connection over soul connection
You gave me a list of friends, yet I feel so alone.
You made me believe in a world all of your own
Pictures to prove their existence
Status to update me on their life
And a message to make me feel connected.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
Yeah, I only really see the home screen
when I'm desperate for views and likes..
..I've since concluded that this is defined by "Irony"...
...maybe.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC