"tutorials" poems
• because I was questioned for calling Beyoncé a god
• because I was told Beyoncé is overrated
• because some white lady I don’t know touched my hair before she learned my name at my place of work
• because one of my white friends made a joke about crack houses when we were watching fake anime and eating fried dough…in addition to making that joke, he made me uncomfortable
• because a white friend of mine agreed with someone who said cis white men are the most oppressed group on my campus
• because people still tell me “ALL Lives Matter” and ask me “why isn’t there a WHITE History Month”
• because “I don’t see color” is a “less racist” way of saying “that isn’t my problem, so I don’t have to get involved”
• because girls “like me” are fetishized
• because girls “like me” are seen as the **** of jokes or just the ****
• because I’m the only non-white passing person of color in my dominant friend group
• because #Lightskinned is still a way to humiliate someone for being fairer skinned and having feelings
• because #Darkskinned is still a way to demean someone who is darker than you and painting them as *****
• because colorism exists in every racial group, but no one wants to talk about it
• because someone argued why a white person should be able to wear dreads and black people are kicked out of institutions for wearing the exact same hairstyle
• because black on black crime is still used as some sort of crevice you try to shimmy yourself through
• because somewhere, a white girl is teaching tutorials on how anyone can have an afro, and no one is stopping her
• because Facebook exploded when I expressed that I want to be respected
• because everybody wanna be a ***** but no one wanna be a *****
• because I didn’t know what to say until I couldn’t stop speaking
• because we are twenty days into February and Black History Month hasn’t been mentioned by ONE of my professors
• because of ******* course I’m the angry black woman
• because I’m essentially the backbone, which means that it’s easy for me to break, right?
• because this **** happens to me every **** day of my life and it will continue to happen to me every **** day of my life
• because you made it that way
• this poem does not have an ending
• this poem is the abyss
• why do I make it about race?
• because this poem can go on and on and on forever
• and I’ll still be talking about the same thing
~~a.s.f.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Once of a bride was I by a belle informed;
Who, on the very night of their honeymoon
Upon sighting her groom's dower, screamed
And would not let him in for his ***** boon,
Until she's taken thru the script the following
Morn by her parson's wife in cool counselling.
Many things in morals and etiquette do
Parents their children ever and anon teach
Except on this single unfolding issue
Will they falter to them plainly preach:
The act of marriage in its detailed image,
Cause it's found nay on their nurturing page.
An African mother will quiver her girl to lecture,
For instance, in the subject under review,
But will leave it to the Omniscient Nature
To instruct her like cry to a curlew.
So the bride's mom will not to her say:
This is how you should roll in the hay.
Neither will a father his son likewise tell
Explicitly of this duty--this too I know--
How to make his led-to-the-altar angel
Fly on cloud nine during their maiden show.
My pa never me of this nuptial scene told,
How in bed my lady I should stylishly hold.
Yet instinct, that great ancient teacher,
The green Adam and ****** Eve taught
On man's debut moment of ecstasy ever,
And did lead him to her piquant spot,
Whilst one another they caressed for affection,
Premiering for all couples conjugal copulation.
And the animals who do not the wisdom
Of man have, even every diminutive creature,
How each by divine smarts in their kingdom--
Like the fish in the sea of their rapture--
Do with themselves mate with none
Giving them tutorials nor showing them ****
To close this up where it had first started:
The *iyawo after the pending deed was done,
As it should betwixt man and wife, delighted
Was and with glowing warmth did thence burn
In the hearth of her *ókò with ultra joy,
Who at the beginning of performance was coy.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 4:43 AM UTC
Too many expert voices lay a claim on your shape,
You are either too full, or
You have gone too far,
Too many moulds get thrusted at your face,
To some you resemble a pear,
But they feel your should look more double cherry,
And whichever fruit you succeed in turning into,
You still, are a tad too hairy
But then does anyone ever tell you,
That sometimes ice cream will be the only answer
And that is just fine?
That a bedtime prayer can be enough night-time routine,
Which needn't include expensive lotions and creams,
That you need fats as well as you need protein,
As also each little gift that Nature crafted lovingly
For this marvel of a creation that is your Being-
So that your skin is fed and living,
And your knees are lubricated and sprightly,
And your blood is rich and active,
And your soul-
No one will give you
"How I brightened my soul in 4 weeks" tutorials,
But you ought to set your happy soul-goals,
A tummy rub in a sunny lawn on a lazy winter afternoon/
A drenching bath in heavy July rains/
A spontaneous poem effortlessly jotted down on a napkin
Level-happy!
And when you're that happy you will know
That you aren't a cut-out on public display,
Not a fruit,
not a diet,
not a fad that peaks and wanes,
You are an everlasting uniqueness,
You are an undefined shape,
You are that collection of rare energies
That only comes custom-made.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Start a phase
call it don’t tell Dave
she shows me the way
and puts on a show
it’s the way she combs
my hair
it’s the way she leaves
her makeup near my boyfriend’s
computer watching them tutorials
on youtube
orange and artificial
bright eyes
how i wish i could
be just like you
hate me for something
just
don’t tell Dave
that my cartharsis comes from
the sparks of her loving hands
it’s the way that i lie awake
lying and the way she moves
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
Focusing on outer beauty
Watching YouTube tutorials for hours on end Trying to learn how to contour so u can fit in
Going out to buy a waist trainer
So you can get thin
Using snapchat filters to have lighter skin
You don't need a fatter *** darling
You need to read better books
Try to improve your mind
Instead of your looks
Physical appearance will only get you so far
Without all the superficial
Do you even know who you are?
Underneath the facade can you even recognize yourself?
What's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word wealth?
Do you think of money or jewels or fancy new whips?
Or an abundance of knowledge and maintaining meaningful relationships?
I refuse to ever be the pretty girl with no purpose
Cause at the end of the day, outer beauty is worthless. Being pretty is cool, but I'd rather be smart bc bad ******* are everywhere
It's my mind that sets me Apart.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 4:00 AM UTC
TikTok comps
Russian bots
Makeup tutorials
"I'm not like other girls"
Trolls and incels
BuzzFeed articles
Gay fan fiction
Many a pun
Demonetization
Censorship
People hiring hitmen
Buy some hair clips
Twitter ramblings
Anti-vaxxers
Flat earthers
And a partridge in a pear tree
Aug 2, 2020
Aug 2, 2020 at 8:52 PM UTC
Suicide should only be committed once
So why the hell do I try every couple months
Something's up with the water
I don't feel the rush like I used to
There's no happiness tutorials on YouTube
I laced together my shoes, through them on a wire and convinced myself to sit and think
The kitchen sink's dishes stink
But you are what you eat and I had a helping of insane
Low key lowlife, broke and high under a spotlight
No ice so there's more drink at the drive thru window with my eyes suspiciously low
I'm ridiculously close to laughing what's left of my mind away
I forgot how it feels to feel fine today
It's either love or hate and there's no areas of gray
*I wish I had a thousand hours to sit down and figure out exactly what the **** that I've been running from
I wish someone would stick around long enough to identify with the place that I'm coming from*
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Late at night when I’m alone in my cinder block room
I think about what could have been.
I think back to watching our favourite shows in a warm basement
And talking about what happened during third period last Thursday
Now I’m drinking in a dimly lit common room
Talking about what happened at that party last Friday
I like it here
But I wish I could take a break from the hazy nights filled with the wandering eyes of mysterious strangers and kisses that taste like *****
And get back to what could have been
So that maybe our eyes could have met for just a little bit longer.
On early mornings when clouds darken the view out of my window
I think about what could have been.
I think back to reading Shakespeare in the library
And wondering why the future seemed so far away
Now I’m reading Othello on an ivy and limestone campus
And that unreachable future is right now
I like it here
But I wish I could take a break from studying until the sun rises and philosophy majors slipping me their numbers
And get back to what could have been
So that maybe we could have stayed alone in the high school hallway for just a little bit longer.
On Sunday afternoons when the hallways are eerily silent
I think about what could have been.
I think back to ordering takeout at midnight
And laughing at each other’s jokes even if they weren’t that funny
Now I’m eating noodles out of a mug because I ran out of bowls (again)
And laughing at how you would be teasing me about this right now
I like it here
But I wish I could take a break from Styrofoam meals and coffee dates with boys from tutorials
And get back to what could have been
So that maybe we could stay at the diner down the road for just a little bit longer.
On Tuesdays in lecture halls where remarks on Romans echo through the auditorium
I think about what could have been
I think back to what should have been
And long for what possibly would have been
I packed my bags and headed down a long stretch of highway
You captured the city skyline with a camera
I like it here
You like it there
But I hope that one day we’ll get a break from it all
And with a degree in one hand and certainty in the other
We’ll take what could have been
And make it into what’s ours
For maybe more than a little bit longer.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
I pack my bag. A girl approaches me.
"I love your jacket! "
/I hate my life./
"Thank you! Me too!"
I hurriedly make my way across the side walk.
" I really like your boots."
/I really don't like being alive./
" Thanks! They were at Target!"
I glance at my tattered agenda.
" I wish I could do make up like you!"
/I wish I would get hit by a car. /
"Aww, thanks! You can always try watching YouTube makeup tutorials for help!"
/I seriously need help./
I scribble doodles in the margins of my notes.
" I wish I could draw like you!"
/I wish I could have my life together./
" Thanks, but it's predominantly in practicing. Draw like you, instead!"
I crumple papers with shaking hands.
" I dig your sense of style."
/ I wish I had my sense of direction./
"Thanks, that makes me feel nice!"
I dig the dirt beneath my jagged nail.
" You always look so cute."
/ I always look for reasons to not **** myself./
"Awh, thanks! I try."
I slouch into a computer chair.
"You look tired."
/I'm tired of my life./
" I'm actually not. I just have naturally dark circles under my eyes, is all."
I glance up at a familiar face.
"How are you?"
/I'm drowning./
"I'm ...surviving. ."
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.
Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.
As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.
TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.
JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.
Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.
If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”
And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.
Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
.
.
Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 12:45 PM UTC
There is darkness, and then there is utter darkness.
In this pristine atmosphere I have crossed my legs, clasped my hands and placed them in between openings. My eyes follow suit. I am in the pyramid black and yet I don’t feel lost. I am here amongst the burning wild bushes of thought. These are fires dying animals gravitates toward. In this day and age, we long for more fires rather than water to nurture our dried out hearts.
There’s a drought.
I try not to feed it. And so I stay here, not perturbed in the least. What was I thinking? A beautiful young girl all the way in Afghanistan. I’d like to hear her whisper sweet nothings into my ear. No. Wait. I think I can hear the bombs now. A voice that slithers through nearby carts rushing past on freshly built railroads. A trainstation of the mind.
Often, I feel my body contorting itself into the youthful rage I once loved. And by love, I mean grew truly comfortable about. Comfort is a great ecstasy.
I am no writer.
I have no motive.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
I wish I was one of those girls who could laugh for fake candid photos
I wish I didn’t like to dance so much
I wish I was into white guys who were blind about their privilege
I wish I laughed at the things they laugh at
I wish I wasn’t Cuban sometimes
I wish I wasn’t Lebanese either
I wish I liked makeup tutorials
I wish I liked putting hours into my hair
I wish I was dedicated to my beauty
I wish I knew how to cook for a man
I wish I knew how to keep my room neat
I wish I liked corny quotes about happiness
I wish my deep thoughts didn’t sabotage my relationships
I wish my mind wasn’t so scattered
I wish I could join a sorority
I wish I could put up with most groups of girls
I wish I saw sexuality as black and white
I wish I wasn’t lazy
I wish I understood the science of dressing like an instagram girl
I wish I was better at school
I wish I didn’t get along with guys so well
I wish I didn’t have a weird sense of humor
I wish I didn’t resent my parents
I wish I never tried drugs
I wish I wasn’t so experimental with myself
I wish I wasn’t so hopeless
I wish I got through breakups more easily
I wish I didn’t like my hair short
I wish I would take off my makeup before I go to bed more
I wish I didn’t like talking about controversial topics
I wish I didn’t like going against the grain
I wish I got ready faster
I wish I had a more realistic idea of time
I wish I had bubbly handwriting
I wish I liked Vera Bradley
I wish I didn’t like it when my ******* could be seen through my shirt
I wish I liked pop music
I wish I didn’t notice how they frame commercials
I wish I was one of those girls that only had *** with 4 people
I wish I didn’t like it when my **** looked big
I wish I liked baking
I wish I didn’t like ****
I wish I didn’t like vibrators
I wish I could talk about materialistic things for long periods of time
I wish I didn’t struggle with depression or ADD
I wish I didn’t get ***** playing cops and robbers growing up
I wish I wasn’t cynical
I wish I didn’t like trap music
I wish there was a plot twist to this poem where I didn’t wish these things at all
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
Welcome to me too.
Thanks for coming in high-altitude, if you're really into them.
There are new-tutorials, and I'm not going to need one.
Why not do the news? I love plain and simple.
Free-market sloping losses will do this;
because of bipartisan politics.
Luyendyk news is crowded by Audi's and by partisan politics;
I don't like my partisan politics.
Star tutorials are tutorial-soon.
This is a new tutorial for my into being given to the jury
in tutorial.
People present their uh dreams,
and a jury room is like love;
a little atmosphere me in a circle,
meaning we are (he is) related to the moon .
I'm the serving the Newburgh tutorial right now
around this one:
The new green play I'm into.
This one’s just a little on the Brumbies
cuz glass needs it to learn.
I am the circus mom pursuing your doom;
a mistaken rampant around jug-glass John,
inputting the bar’s shiny leading to the bottom-thanked step.
Number one is singing your doom on.
Be an unloaded nerd, like a dump truck dumping dirt into our hearts
while holding the whole lamar,
and perfecting the bar starting with p.
Put on the range
near the whole ecosystem in a in a bubble.
Second thing you gotta do is earn it,
you do this, but we plan to our dirt up to nine innings.
love things American
like me
in the new godliness.
99 dramas trapped under so now I'm a real utah zombie,
and lines,
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Online is where Ian teaches late at night
His students live in an Asiatic land
The English language they seek to command
With dedication Ian shows them a light
How to speak the Anglo Saxon diction
His lessons deliver much needed skills
As the world is geared towards these drills
They're after a good qualification
Ian's valuable help in facets of English
Will give them a chance to gain employment
They strive to do well neath Ian's guiding wing
Fruitful learning is what they'll accomplish
University degrees of attainment
These goals Ian's tutorials shall bring
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Why don't they make tutorials
Of how to give up on someone?
How to get over that hopeless crush?
Cause if they did,
I'd be the first to buy one.
Milion ways to fall in love
But not even one single way to stop?
So if you know the way,
Please tell me.
Before I'll do something stupid.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
Salt waves breaking on the seashore.
Their sound waves shaking our eardrums,
as we sat listening to his tales.
Even wise Canute couldn't hold back
the surging tides of myth.
We were beachcombers, picking up
the flotsam and jetsam of stories,
not history, his stories,
tutorials in delights and dangers.
We've since learned
his stories are truths.
They are myths
that helped us muddle through.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
I am the multi-purpose good for nothing
Careening down a log flume
Being put on another sucker's list
Trying to set back the sundial
So I can summarize this fuzzy picture and see what it entails
I see lauded tutorials that are not even close to the proper way
Because there is no proper way
I see gourmet cuisines in doggy bags
To be saved for later
I hear clods trying to be funny, playing with euphemisms on the airwaves
I've driven down countless roadways
I've compared the song bird's plumage to the guy who tried to play off his plummer's crack
They're both one in the same
So I've got that going for me
I've found those who enjoy the uptight delights in life
Who, if a single hair is out of place receive a reduction in pay
So I suppose, I had better get on with it
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
how do you explain the hollowness you feel within?
how do you tell people that you feel empty, like someone scooped everything out of your soul
how do you fake a smile and talk real loud so that you drown out the demons within
whispering, taunting, urging oh go on, it's only too easy to...
how do you say you're fine while hoping, praying someone will look into your eyes and say 'No, you're not.'
how do you cry yourself to sleep every night and go to school with a pre-planned smile, yes I'm fine just really tired, math tutorials make me want to **** myself
and they smile knowingly because they understand
but if only they knew just how true that statement is.
if only they knew how you stared out of the window, knowing that there is nothing that could possibly hold you back from leaping over the edge and soaring, spiraling down to your reprieve from this hell, this flesh prison to which you are bound.
if only they knew how many times you held that bottle of pills in your hand, knowing that if you counted out 27 pills and downed them all at once, your oh so tired heart would slowly slow down and eventually stop, sending you into a peaceful slumber .
if only they knew that some people were born to die,
and that's okay.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
The smartphone is a portal
to progress and possessional obsession.
To behold all knowledge of the beauty of the human experience within the palm of your hand, yet to also behold;
brilliant tutorials from false idols on how not to live your life,
that captivate and obliterate all free-folks minds.
Ahh yes, freedom-the fickle *****
monkey see
monkey do.
The smartphone has brought us closer than ever before
yet, when this little tablet of infinity shows you only what you want to see
(like a mirror to the soul)
pray you keep keen eyes upon your shadow
for even hugs can crush and families feud and through opinions and tribal captivations
we become more divided.
It has made us spend so much time looking down, that we no longer look up;
For it hurts to stare into the light.
Nobody looks into each others eyes anymore for the same reason.
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 5:44 AM UTC
In truth, I know naught. Why I am so sad?
It worries me; you say it wearies you.
In lieu of times much simpler much happier;
sandbox wars, creaking swings, afternoon swims
we’ve essays, tutorials and internships,
then sales meetings, social events and the
occasional blind date. Entwined by work
and a distinct loneliness, we clutch at
fragile things, irrational whims; silence
rings a mutual suffering. So bring me
back to bygone days, revisit the ways
you raced me to the pool, we crafted sand-
castles, walls higher than Jack’s bold bean-
stalk, we tried coaxing winds to whistle as we
reached our toes to touch the sky, to dream of
walking the moon, firefighting, saving
animals, or even following Tom
Sawyer into his cave in search of gold.
So, darling, take me back to the past, what
gilded sands of time cannot quite bury,
to reclaim the lost innocence of a
spotless mind, to relive a time when life
was not measured by schedules, to regret
ever saying: “I can’t wait to grow up”
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
I want a man
to be a man.
A man who knows
what to do,
exactly when,
and knows
who to do it to.
Why?
I want a man to be a man,
meat mountain in motion,
so little body fat
that
I. . .
Can make mixed drink rivers
flow through the cracks of
his ****** abdominis.
Now,
dance 2 it.
Now,
dance 2 it!
I want a girl
to be a girl.
Her, tolerant,
forever
diminutive,
and knows
how it goes, because.
Why?
I want a girl to be a girl,
Youtube tutorials,
one of two: **** or ***
I
want. . .
Long hair and circus paint
on a few warm holes,
willing and wet, or, at least
wet.
Now,
dance 2 it.
Now,
dance 2 it.
Now,
dance 2 it!
It's raining money
where it rains.
In the open.
It's raining respect
where it rains.
In the light.
Where am I?
(Where am I?)
I'm. . . here.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
insistent banging
hot air on cold steel
keeping pace with the second hand
replacing the drum track
placed on the education floor –
sliding iron door
electric lock
shocked at the space
misplaced faces race against the case
chasing freedom thought computer tutorials
and changing attitudes
challenging inner platitudes
shrewdly scouring the ‘self’ for shreds –
surpassed expectations mitigated by short-sighted controllers
crushing spirits while building for retirement
smiling on break, sharing war stories
without consideration for rehabilitation
only condemnation –
watching light-bulb moments
day after day
inspired by other’s achievement
I sit awestruck
the stories of prison might as well have unicorns
for the reality they express
from my desk
this cesspool
smells like fresh beginnings and wider horizons
these dregs of society
move me to be the best version of myself
as they seek only to be considered by society
as equal and accepted –
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
This fu@&!n app
I don't understand.
I'm following instructions
as best as I can.
I tried five tutorials,
and searched it online.
Why does this time saving tool drain my time?
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 4:00 PM UTC
I've told you I loved you a million times,
but never in words
We went to cross a street
and my arm, without permission
was out to block your path
before I even noticed
as a car went by
you laughed and asked
'what's with the protective act?'
I couldn't answer
because I didn't know
We walked side by side
across the train tracks
kicking stones in matching sneakers
you turned to me,
your heart in your eyes
'am I like Him?'
and I thought about it at length
before telling you no
instead of simply dispelling your fears
We were on a bus ride
sharing a seat whilst around us
tears were shed
but you simply made me laugh
and we spent the whole ride talking
as I smoothed down the fur
on the snout of your
favorite stuffed animal
and later when they blamed you
for enjoying yourself
I defended you with an army
of eyebrows raised high
and sarcastic remarks
that made you laugh instead
And when we walked together
from church, to home
taking a short cut through
streets we'd never been down before
I listened to you talk of everything
that came to mind
and we sang every song
that came on your phone's radio app
And between services,
when I was lazy
and laying on my side
on your bed easy as pie
you fidgeted with every
little knick knack on your dresser
telling me tales of each
and I smiled and nodded
using your stuffed animal
as a pillow and waiting for you to sit down
When you started designing your game
I stayed silent and listened
as you described your plans
how you built each little thing
using code you'd learned from
YouTube tutorials
Secretly thrilled
at the tiny contact
between your back and my knees
And when you finally
put your laptop down
and laid down
letting me spoon you
each time we decided
we'd get up to get
something to eat
yet went nowhere
sent a happy little thrill
through my whole body
And with each new experience
each new revelation
of budding emotions
thought long gone
I learn that love
can be just as strong
as softly fading radiation
from a platonic bomb
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Fall is having something of a moment - in Paris - from what I hear.
Me? I’m enjoying some large-group foundational instruction, small-group clinical tutorials, and what they call ‘dense-coursework’ because endless memorization and scientific concept acquisition isn’t dense at all.
Peter’s in Paris for goods, Woot!
And lucky him, he’s adjusting to waking up
to ‘Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy,’
blasting from my Sonos One speaker at 6am
right after Charles and I finish our morning 5k.
I’m trying to be present for him, to atone for endless studies.
My diary charts my intentions, anyway, like satirical epistolaries.
Now that Peter’s in Paris, he seems “S” obsessed!
I didn’t tell him, “Wait, isn’t that what A.I. is for?”
No, I go to minimal lengths to discourage him,
for we’re each other’s raw materials, are we not?
Shakespeare, a man who obviously spent a lot of his time on the Internet. Wrote about that very specific, emotional-space and little else. He disguised it, of course, with ****** allusions, drunken sword fights, mistaken identities and sick-burns - but it’s all there.
****** gender-bending, sneaking around, and jesters spilling blunt truths about “appetites.”
But he presented it all as real, human and normal - signaling pleasures full of breathing, tasting, feeling, and the overt-expression of ****** actions - he was a man ahead of his time - made for social media.
Of course, you can’t trust what a poet writes of love.
Not because of dissimulation, but because love is so exciting
- that the happening is all-consuming - and in the after-pauses, much is forgotten.
.
.
Songs for this:
Betty (Get Money) by Yung Gravy [E]
Man I Need by Olivia Dean
Bad Dreams by Teddy Swims
.
Yung Gravy = uhh he’z SO g.d cute and funny.
talking to Peter “If I didn’t have you, I’d stalk him to prove my love.”
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 9:44 AM UTC