This poem parodies the new ethics of consumption and urban madness. The iPhone rings — but it’s a clone on the line. Marmalade, gazelles, a grocery store — these aren’t just quirky images, but grotesque elements of a lifestyle where even clones crave to be comme il faut. Beneath its hooligan tone lies a sharp critique of faceless trends and meaningless status games.

This poem sketches a girl with a fiery spirit moving through the sleepy urban night like a mythic shadow. She’s both soft and defiant — a symbol of freedom that doesn't ask permission. The rhythm of the city pulses in her steps, and when morning comes, her dance turns into code. You either catch it — or you don’t.

This poem reads like cabaret in the age of identity: bold, theatrical, and politically resonant. It plays with the language and symbols of France, reimagining liberté, égalité, fraternité through the figure of a burning heroine. Grotesque meets grace here, and every word becomes a performance.

A royal kink fantasy wrapped in queer theatrics. This poem celebrates a femme queen with absolute control and a willing, playful partner. It’s over-the-top, ****, and sovereign — where every gesture is performance and every ******, a coronation.

This poem is a burst of ****** surrealism, blending the visual intensity of Van Gogh with the ecstasy of a queer bacchanalia. Bodies dissolve into myth, identity fractures into color and heat, and desire becomes both ritual and revolt. It’s a vision where transcendence, sensuality, and collapse merge into one explosive image — poetic, raw, and divine.

This poem satirizes the cyclical nature of fashion and behavior — how styles and attitudes return from mother to daughter in exaggerated or ironic forms. There's a wink at the freedom of self-expression, showing how it often manifests in the same symbols, just reframed. It blends critique and affection, capturing the absurd charm of generational repetition.

It’s playful, a bit cheeky, and leaves space for interpretation: is it liberation or just déjà vu in denim?

This poem dissects a moment of ecstatic connection — physical, verbal, and emotional — and transforms it into a miniature of post-urban poetics. It's playful, bold, and glossy, yet beneath the surface lies a raw authenticity. It’s about pleasure, equality in the moment, and the freedom to express oneself without taboo.

This poem is like a riot at a fashion show. There are no weak characters here—only different strategies. Some drop out, some level up. But the heroine, after riding through the chaos, wins her game. It’s about a woman’s right not to be ideal, but to be effective. Not an angel, but a force of power.

This poem captures the image of a fast, fearless woman — a kinetic force speeding toward her own direction, not society’s map. She becomes machine, icon, energy — driving head-on through gendered clichés and class constraints. It’s a manifesto of personal trajectory.

In this poem, the body isn’t an object — it’s a participant in spring. The cucumber becomes a symbol of ironic sexuality, the salad a kind of cultural ritual. Female embodiment isn’t erased here — it thrives, with humor, without shame or restriction. It’s a manifesto for the right to take pleasure in oneself.

This poem is about women breaking free from domestic routines — the kitchen, the carpet — and stepping into the night in pursuit of their own summit. They are no longer "interior decor," but active agents. Every step across the rug is a step toward themselves.

This poem plays with ironic desire and mythic chaos. The female figure here is a wild goddess of the mirror world — unpredictable, sensual, and entirely her own. With a shot of liquor and a whirlwind of curtains, she claims her individuality unapologetically. This is a celebration of being vivid, defiant, and alive.

This poem is a blend of post-irony and anarchic pleasure. It embraces the body, indulgence, and decadence, turning them into an operatic celebration of desire. The body here is not passive — it devours, dominates, and plays. ****** freedom becomes the right to choose, to enjoy, and to command one’s own pleasure.