#poetryisnotdead

We were like gold
Until you were told
I needed basic respect
Then, you sold us down the river
Said our love was worth its weight in gold

So, you cashed it in for profit
But, there were no takers
And you’re still the victim, it seems!

Whenever something good happens, 
I wanna tell you!
Whenever I feel blue, I wanna tell you!
Spill my guts
Meanwhile, I don’t let anyone else know I have organs 

How do I plan for the future when the world is in disarray?
Dystopia
Filled with phobia
Of death
And simply taking a step
Out of my home.

I hope to freeze to death in hell’s flames
Before COVID or air pollution chokes the life out of me!

Anxious.
Anxiety.
Quiet thee, brain!

Commotion! 
Devotion to the chaos
Endless thoughts
Can’t seem to
Hold onto one
Yet they make me
Nervous!

Do I deserve this? 
Disservice! 
It is that I exist this way
Instead of being a productive machine!

Demeaning words
Brain says more
Demeaning words

How do I sort through this shit
When my brain is constantly
Throwing
A 
Fit.
Jumping

Can’t just sit
Agitated, I’m
Ill-fated
Destined for the world to collapse
Around me.
…yippee. 

December reminds me that I have loved
But that I’m not loved
At least, not loved enough for someone
To want me to be a part of their holiday celebration

Our love is not worth celebrating. 

Pretty bold of you to say that I’m overreacting
Would only acknowledge my bleeding 
Accompanied by blood curdling screaming!

Because it began to stain your clothes
Left me to rot…
While you bought a new shirt.
Said it was a pity I died!
But, I’ve survived worse.

Told me I was miserable when I was getting better
Because I wouldn’t let the gaslighting comments just
Roll.
Off.
My.
Back.

You didn’t understand why they were no longer keeping me warm
When they never kept me warm. At all.

I’d rather be comforted by hell’s embrace!
At least hell is honest with its intentions. 

Brain fog

Foggy fogginess

want to do things but thoughts are

mush.

Completing sentences is hard

Because the words are out

Of

Reach

Floating in the fog

mush.

Productive

Be productive

You can be self-destructive

As long as it’s not on the clock

Destroy yourself

You want to sell yourself to the highest bidder

But they barely give you enough to live

Thriving is for those who have it destined in their blood

and are hungry for the blood of others!

I will clean my room, even it is the last thing I do!

… Well, certainly did not do that today

But what did I get done instead?

I scrolled through TikTok endlessly!

Hey, the day before all I could do was stare at my wall

And just think about cleaning my room

And just think about wanting to do just something…

Anything at all…

So that I could say that did something today

So guess what?

I did something today!

I did… something…today

Trying too hard to write something perfect

None of my words belong on the page

Maybe that means I should write something

But even as I am writing this, I know I could do better

I should do better

I…can’t do better, can I?

Incoherency is the cost

Of me trying to write when I am not in the zen state of mind

Does my writing mean anything if

it’s jumbled? Does it mean anything if I don’t entirely understand what I was trying to say?

I… maybe I should…

Stop.

But my thoughts keep racing

Do they matter?

I think they do.

I know they do.

—James Schuyler, from Hymn To Life

Marlanda Dekine-Sapient Soul, from Perhaps I Am a Fugitve of Empathy

—Marissa Davis, from Wild Grasses

—Roxane Beth Johnson, from Blues For Almsot Forgotten Music

—Louisa May Alcott, from Little Women

—Robert W. Watson, from A Paper Horse

—Frank O'Hara, from Meditations In An Emergency