#longpoem
a little snap
a small pop
twisting and
crunch along a
line up and up
the spine and
a small crack
traveling
as I stretch
oh, it hu
rts
a little flick
of cartilage over
skin
a small curse
turning and
creeping as
moss or algae
a small crack
traveling as
I stretch...
hur
ts
twist again
relieve the
pai
n
a little snap
couldn't
cause a fright
bones and cartilage
were made
to fight
as I twist
and I twist
and I stretch
pop in and out
the structure
and it
h
urt
s
for a second
but I feel waves
rushing to
compete
and it's okay
a little snap,
pop, crack
a little flick
over sticks
we call femurs and
hips
across vines
we call jaws and
spines
a gesture of
relief
that dissipates
as the
time moves
for
war
d
along the
tidal waves
of shores
along an axis,
of course
a small break
in the system
a little ache
in the vision
bones falter,
limbs frail
but as entailed
as I twist
and I stretch
yes it
hu
rts
but waves
filter
through to
help the
.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 3:26 AM UTC
You know these things you just want
but you can’t
and it’s sad
but it’s not in your hand.
The other girls chuckling together
but what is the matter?
We just didn’t think you’d enjoy it better.
And you dig and you dig deep in the ground
until you start to hear this sound,
the sound you hear when there’s nothing.
Like a broken radio in your head
and then you sometimes wish you were dead,
No deaf!
No you wish you were deaf so the sound wouldn’t hurt in your ears like the words you hear,
you hear from the people you like.
It’s an endless hike.
A hike without gear,
without hope or fear.
Just a long endless hike,
just for the others to like.
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
I need a hug.
And no, I don't mean just a hug
Where it lasts a moment before the ghosts of our skins,
Meeting fades away.
I need a real hug.
The kind that makes you feel safe
Grounds you, Compounds you,
Makes it feel like you will never be harmed again.
Never again to be torn from angry claws,
A society of hatred that we humans made born.
I want to feel safe like I was back then.
I need a hug.
Yet I can't stand physical touch.
I cannot bear the sensation of another person's graze against my own.
I have no idea what to do when it happens.
Whether to breakdown?
Do I hug back?
What the hell- Do I do?
That feeling when their presence chokes around your body?
Constricting it,
Wanting to writhe against it-
I hate it.
…Am I mad? -I must be mad, - Right?
To be so longing for a reaction
That makes my insides churn so much I may
Just-...throw up?
The very idea makes me curl and twist
Shudder, do I, at the thought.
Why do I crave it so badly when I flinch-
Hard is my exterior, yet I try to claw from the inside-
Barely even able to try and scrape the surface-
I need a hug...
I look and spy amidst others like a fly on the wall,
Witnessing people do that one simple act-
The one I cannot bring myself to do, willingly.
Jealousy, Nauseating, Rage-
It invades my body, twists the metaphorical knife
Of a touch I yearn for yet cannot comprehend just HOW to
Understand-
Silence.
--
The need to turn off the spinning cogs and wheels of my mind-
Shut. It. Out.
Words bitter on the underside of my tongue-
Pressed against my raw and gnarled cheek
That ****** touch that in the dark glow of the moon-
As I sit bare on my bed, makes me weep-
I just...-
Need...
A hug.
Oct 27, 2025
Oct 27, 2025 at 8:10 PM UTC
there's literature hanging in the air right now but i have a stuffed nose and what more can this mouth engulf in a disgusting way.
I had dreams.
Merry should i say but they attach themselves to the literature right now because i have a stuffy nose and can't breathe.
All the passions,
pleasing,
socialization attaches themselves to the literature as it is in the air right now.
Do they all love literature just as much as me
or are they mocking me for the stuffy nose?
because i sure remember smells of those whose enticement ran through my veins and spilled from my finger tips.
They were enchanted by the world yet they all hang in the air now.
Dense air which slowly cripples my eye sight.
Have the air not known of situation i am poised in?
Why would it know?
Its air.
Air.
Air.
Air.
Its so unfair.
I believe the air must be the one who floated the literature up.
Or else why would it be hanging?
That dense air mocks me for having ocean tides on my body,
for the vast difference in our size,
for the way i move slow compared to it and now it holds my
every array of hope.
There's literature hanging in the air now,
Yet the air sickens me
so i think literature loathes to be with me.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 8:58 AM UTC
She wanted to travel
Unravel the world
Like famous explorers
Who's wandering was all the will to ask
If there was anything beyond the horizon
That they could see.
Now shes everywhere -
Frozen stare, pigtails and grey red uniform,
Tie needling south with the straightness of a compass
And shes lost.
Where is she?
Everywhere anyone turns
Trapped in the undergrowth
Where cans and cat **** go to pasture
Her wrinkled smile
Is caked onto the branches
Paper machet - ed and as brittle
As an old map.
She breaks apart like bread crumbs
That will never lead her home.
Have you seen her?
Not tumble weeding her news
Across the m2
Or pinned to a lamppost
Weeping her ink into the missing
like a watercolour.
Have you spied her?
Not tied with weak ribbon
to brown stalks who's little
Notes speak of hope
And other things, like Angel's and innocence,
The innocence shes frozen in.
Can you find her?
Not hopefully
Flying her flag of the forgotten
On the tv
Budget crew
Remaking her last seen
With shaking cameras
And discount queens of the smaller screen
Hoping for Hollywood.
Is there a tangible
Left to her name
Thrown as it has been across
State lines, and small places
That only the locals know.
She has Columbus - ed the globe
And she only left home
Walked down her drive
And disappeared.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 5:39 AM UTC
I hate small talk.
I'm not interested in the weather or this great tv show you just watched.
I don't want to know "what's up" when we could talk about so much more.
I want to know about your true self, about your biggest insecurities. About the things you're proud of, but never mention because you don't want to brag.
I want to know why you don't like the colour of your eyes or the form of your hands. Why you think your eyes are boring and why you think your hands are ugly.
But I also want to know what those eyes saw, what horror and what beauty they experienced. I want to know when and why they were filled with tears. Happy tears as well as sad tears.
I'm interested in all those amazing things those hands built - but I'm also interested in those, which they destroyed.
I want to know what the happiest memory of your childhood is. I want to know whether you liked to play in the sand or if you preferred to sit on the swing, feet high above the ground in the air.
I want to know what you miss about your childhood. Is it the carefree mind you once had or is it the happiness you felt because of the smallest things?
I want to know which traumas you fight with till this day. And how you cope with them. Did a dog once bit you and are you therefore still scared of them? Or does the loud echo of a thunder still make you uncomfortable?
I want to know which songs you listen to. What the lyrics behind your favourite songs mean to you. Do they make you think 'bout cold but cozy winter days? Or do they remind you of warm summer days spent in the sun, maybe even on a beach?
I want to know what path your thoughts are travelling when you're laying in bed at 3am while listening to a special song. Does it make you cry because it reminds you of someone? Or do you smile for the same reason?
I want to know all the dreams you have. How you got them and how you want to make them happen. I want to know whether you’d like to climb the mount Everest or if you want to go skydiving. But maybe your biggest dream is to get married to the person you love, your soulmate. Do you even believe in soulmates?
I want to know in what absurd things you believe in. Do you think aliens exist and maybe they're already between us? Do you believe that when you break a mirror, you've got 7 years bad luck or that the shatters bring good luck?
I want to know whether you believe that we humans will destroy and exterminate ourselves or if you believe that an asteroid will destroy us just the way another one destroyed the dinosaurs.
I want to know if you believe that we can change and influence our future or if you believe in fate and that god has everything planned out for us - or if you don't believe in god at all. And tell me; do you believe in karma?
I’m interested in all the things and humans who inspire you. Does music and poetry inspire you? Or do you feel inspired by someone’s development?
I want to know what influence your family had and still has on you. Do you let them influence your opinions or don’t you let yourself be dissuaded? Did they raise you to be a kind human being or to shut down your feelings? And I want to know; what about your friends? How do they affect you?
You see, I hate small talk.
I want to talk about galaxies and aliens, destructions and creations.
I want to remember childhood memories, smells and nostalgias - but also childhood traumas.
I want to talk about karma, fate and god.
About insecurities and fears, about music and its influence.
I want to talk about all the dreams that you want to live up to, and everything that makes them burst.
I want to talk about everything you search for in a soulmate and how you feel, when you think of someone you're in love with.
I want to revive all the happy feelings you've ever felt, but also all the pain that sometimes drowned out the happiness.
I want to talk about all the things that made us feel more alive than we could've ever imagined - and about everything that broke us.
I want to talk about everything that makes us these imperfect, beautiful human beings that we are.
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 2:27 PM UTC
In the grey fogs of the cities -
Like mushrooms in the moist,
There grow beggars in the corners,
"Just a penny, sir!" - voiced.
You may find them in any genre;
Old men next to a jar,
Sad blokes without roof nor goods,
Lads playing a guitar.
All they want is only a coin-
Giving them needs morals;
Only God knows, you may be there,
Begging with them for alms.
---
Every time, I bypass by one,
My throat knots in a ball;
I feel an urge to seek coppers,
Always giving them all.
However, once it happened that-
I ran out of changes,
When an old gypsy woman was
Looking for my wages.
She blocked the entry of the shop:
"A coin, may God bless you!";
I excused: Now, I'm short of posh
While trying to get through.
---
She grabbed my arm and hugged my waist:
"My dear, my kids need food!"
Get out of my way, you witch! - thought,
"Witch?! You'll pay for b'ing rude!"
I was shocked: What, she read my mind?!
She spat between my eyes,
Hugged me harder than a python-
While murmuring weird rhymes.
"Pale face - hard heart, now you will pay,
Pale heart - hard face, you'll own!"
I fear'd if there were watching crowds,
But none, I've seen none, none.
---
The witch's gone as if never been,
Leaving my eyes in pain;
Taking my sight away, to say:
Oh my God! Am I sane?!
No doctor could cure my blindness:
"Nah, you must pretend it."
Then, a charlatan informed me:
"You're cursed, I'm sure of it".
Knowing being cursed let me sick;
"You'll need her to be cleansed",
But how to find her in Paris?
Been blinded and uneased.
---
I digged through the darkest quarters,
Meeting gypsy kings and hags;
Though, they were all laughing at me:
"A witch-beldam who begs?!"
My dispair led me to the shop:
Maybe, I'll find her here;
Time has strained my face and my heart,
Begging there year to year.
"All I want is only a coin-
Giving me needs morals;
Only God knows, you may be here,
Begging with me for alms."
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 1:24 AM UTC