fresh 'n easy

monotony

we live slowly and it's hard to change this. i've read enough
to know we all want time in bursts;
i can see it in the globs of word vomit
about a lover and in the POEMS THAT READ LIKE THIS and in
the

ones that are
broken into

wordshards

and in my own, most definitely in my own, in the
way i break my work infinitely or not at all
cause i like to smackrapataptap! shake you by the
shoulders or make a pearl of long boring shores of time and i

think it's funny how even the rough raw
ragged hunks of poetry the bastard children of
mental illness and misfortune and bitterness
cut only in the way we like, aching in the
same delicious way it does to push on a bruise cause

you can't possibly capture every mess of living
the blue-skied plain-clothed stress of living because
that's not art that's
living

so here

is what

us poets do

we take the longest sunsets and
slowest love and dying youth and
great big colorful kaleidoscopes of
heart and

hold them deep beneath our surface
where the mind closes in on all sides,
where my skin flames with the exertion and
where i beat and squeeze and compress

months into letters, years into words, and
i hope you know that every beautiful thing is the culmination of
a toiling tired earth: the gears of a universe churning here,
the slow creak of cosmos there, that jewels (diamonds and lesser)
come from a forever of heat and pressure and

i hope you know that this is no different

💝

feedback pls (i kno this is bad but be gentle w me 😔)