If I can't have you in this life, I hope you leave my heart alone. I hope my heart beats for someone else. Someone that will feel the same way about me.

---litany in which certain things are crossed out // richard siken

Please stop these nightly thoughts.

@cutieoutofhell

IG @bymarahh

you never run your fingers through my hair like you did when we first met

god I know this is like The Wrong Stance on AI. I know its not about whether the art is Real and Human or If It Has A Soul and how a lot of the arguments against it are the same bullshit arguments people made against digital art like I Know. I Knowwww. but god, I'm really sorry, not to post like one of those annoying poetry bloggers I cant stand (yall are valid, live your truth, theres nothing wrong with what you post I'm just a petty bitch who hates poetry. unless I dont hate it.)

But theres just something about the way AI art will almost certainly never be able to mimic the exact way my pencil leaves an indentation in the paper, the way some of the lines I can never fully erase cause I pressed too hard, theyll have to at least train them to draw with a physical pencil first, and sure, they could train it to draw with a pencil and even erase the exact same piece I drew, line for line, on a piece of paper with a robot arm powered by AI, but they can't replicate. idk. the lineage of lefty bitches in my family, and the way I grew up going through school with my entire left arm silver with graphite, from doodling on my schoolwork. not yet anyway. but I guess I do live for the day we make the ai sentient enough that we can traumatize it by giving it homework after kneecapping its executive functions so it copes by drawing a big tiddy lobster monster. sure

i look at the moon evey night and yet it's beauty never fails to amaze me

The Story of the End of the Story

By James Galvin

To keep from ending The story does everything it can, Careful not to overvalue Perfection or undervalue Perfect chance, As I am careful not to do in telling.

By now a lot has happened: Bridges under the water, No time outs, Sinewy voices from under the earth Braiding and going straight up In a faint line.

I modify to simplify, Complicate to clarify. If you want to know your faults, marry. If you want to know your virtues, die.

Then the heroine, Who resembles you in certain particulars, Precipitates the suicide Of the author, wretchedly obscure, Of that slim but turgid volume, By letting slip: Real events don't have endings, Only the stories about them do.

James Galvin, "The Story of the End of the Story" from Resurrection Update: Collected Poems 1975-1997.

I need a good short story about blood, cannibalism, and lesbians. Why are books like to be devoured so hard to come by 💔

Still Looking or on knowing there's a way out because you've been here before. you've been in bigger and scarier places before, and even they had a way out, and a friend on the other side waiting. and if the journey is too much for you, get up and eat. even if the bread needs to be baked for you, even if you need to be told, even if you need to be fed, just let someone tell you to get up and eat, let someone feed you, and get up and eat, and find a way out. (and like the mary ellen carter, rise again)

when is it my turn to be blessed with an emotionally intelligent man who telepathically understands my obnoxious mood swings and inherited generational trauma

sometimes we stay in a depressing relationship because of the belief that we are not worthy of a better one.

Tell me why

It's two AM

And I'm awake

And I'm sad

That I'll never see

His dog again

“We were kissing gently at first: then we’d draw away, and look at each other, like we were both swimming in the same feeling — of needing each other — and then we’d start over again.”

— Aoibhean Sweeney, Among Other Things

~udti patang se the woh, kahan gaye unhe dhoondho~

I exist in the spaces in-between.

I am real on summer nights,

when I bike home,

and the fields are voids.

Glass shards show me the way home.

The only sound is the spinning of the wheels and the air dancing.

It smells like blooming flowers, leaves covered in dew and the smoke of a bonfire.

A single car passes me by.

Not a sound comes from the trailer park.

I close my eyes and feel.

A single star shines over our house.

It is a summer night and I am real.

21-05-2023