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the poetics of space
a place long uncharted
my charming forget about it

comfortably uncomfortable
every yester year (more)
For a mere additional five dollars
We'll throw you a funeral
With all the best fixings
Cake, resentment, jealous relatives
A mariachi band, mother's perfume
The lazy dreamer
caught in celestial haze
obscured within clouds.
Haiku's for lazy dreamers.

Life Goals

An unfulfilled list
Growing bigger each daydream (more)
you anguished bud light
can't figure out why we left
piss your life away
A failed thing.

About to burst.

Bad bitch.
Social Anxiety

They can see through me
Always an awkward, try hard
It is all pretend. (more)
...It's been nearly five years now and I still don't know what to make of it.

The roots just keep growing with insatiable, institutionalized violence.
Another person of color was killed by a police officer
This time, it is a friend
It's an unusually beautiful summer day when I get the call
The sick juxtaposition terrifies me even more. (more)
   Meghan lived a charmed life. Her parents were warm, pleasant looking, and upper middle class. She had two older sisters who adored her and several lazy cat compatriots. Her family was beautiful in an all American way and she followed suit by personifying the girl next door. I(more)
   Sitting atop a grassy knoll, we see the dreamer staring off whimsically into the distance. The often romanticized archetype can be found dreaming of faraway planets, using Amelie' as an identity placeholder, living vicariously through other people's lives, having multiple existential crises, quoting The Little(more)
they tell you to get out of your head

to be selfless and to love

to be a noble citizen
   When I was in fourth grade, a traumatic incident attempted to destroy me. It was the kind of tragedy that scares people away with it's taboo sheen, but my therapist kept telling me to be more open. I was nine and I just wanted to be loved. My(more)
   As I sat on the side porch, inhaling an American Spirit cigarette I couldn't afford in a short sighted effort to feel less terrible about smoking, you gazed at me sheepishly. You reminded me of an Indian Jason Schwartzman.  
   When I was a gawky pre-teen, I had a nightmare about my grandfather violently pushing my grandmother out of a window inside their humble apartment, several stories above ground. It was stark and monochromatic, like a gritty film noir. She fell into a sea of tall spikes that(more)