Pentameter Alexandrine

A good life is lived on the half beat.

And is filled full with the absurd, and contradicts itself often.

And all our time spent is either sex and/or distractions from death.

And a lot of arguments begin with miscommunication and live on longer than they should because we make up excuses for our honor.

And money and comforts are wasted if they're not in service of big wrinkly laughs and smiles.

And is too short for me not to feel warm and rosy by the color pink or cry during good books and movies or care if other dudes think it's weird that I like Hello Kitty.

And is too long for me to hate people for loving who they love or what they believe in or when they cut in front of me at the market or lie to me about needing change for the bus but they're really buying beer, it's all okay if they come to me with a smile or positivity, because everyone deserves dignity and sometimes an asshole is an asshole and a nice person is a nice person.

it really doesn't matter to me if the earth is flat or round or that a god (or goddess) exists or doesn't exist or aliens built the pyramids because none of that stopped my step father from getting drunk and beating me or my mom and it didn't stop my mom from dying from cancer.

And seeing how free she was in old pictures, living like unapologetic wildfire, bending time and space to her terms I could finally love her as an individual and outside the context of a mother.

not being embarrassed anymore by how I look because those looks are the living history of the great women before me.

And that none of this is any kind of new revelation.

Coffee thought.

Why aren't cookies called, Bakies? You don't cook them, you bake them.

She's on my mind.

She got there through the ear canal.

She's in my heart.

I think she got there through the lungs.

Title: All that you love will be carried away.

Artist: Local Idiot (self)

It just takes too much energy to keep you lit up little one. This is not sustainable, post renewable (Wait there's a poem here I think).

I don't think our love was like any storybook,

We worked like cold, clinically drafted plans.

She told me exactly what she needed to build foundations, as I did for her.

And we both learned to be architects along the way.

We learned to read instructions written in two different languages, the hidden meaning of gestures.

Reenforcing weakness and learning failure points.

It may not be as exciting as any great book but I know what it will look like in the end.

.... because she comes with a troubleshooting section.

My ice cream is always exactly 15% ice creamier after I see her.

Her science holds up.

😐🫴🏻🐉

I will love you into oblivion

my little disco Death Star,

in our secret society built for two.

your serial thrills my moth cult kills

you grow into my deep dark places

like mold upon my bones

the gap in the tooth and crook of your nose

my pretty baby full of grace

dripping red drippy drops along the floor.