I have been thinking about how fictional worlds thread with our realities,
how if you read a book,
watch a film,
see a play,
the subject matter and themes will unconsciously make their way into your daydreams,
I had been watching pride and prejudice,
thinking of Pemberley Estate,
the countryside,
how English hills can flood with hanging low mist,
overcast and soft,
mild, almost ethereal,
or how it may tear itself open,
on ripe summer days,
the ground verdant and full,
I see an image of us, by a lake,
perhaps an old-fashioned picnic basket,
cherries, peaches, strawberries, plums,
feeding each-other grapes,
we could dip our feet in the water,
laze and kiss and,
have all in the time in the world somehow.
I would have a book of poetry,
Sappho perhaps, Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson,
I could show you the ones I think you might like,
feed you a strawberry,
read you wild nights,
our hair and hands all tangled,
our words and thoughts entwined too,
and we forget all about the beautiful countryside, and the fruit, and the poetry,
for moments and moments.

I had a **** childhood
But at least the music was good

Smile your Marie Kondo smile on me-
Just smile and pretend it can be done
She is a tank against common sense. Invasion of clear mind.
I never tidy up, my life's a mess.
Marie Kondo though makes me feel even less.
Completely disarmed my will to feel.

The thing about us English nerds
We know the sappy lines
The snappy remarks
The ones that sting just right
Or heal a cut deep in your heart
So watch out for us
Because you’ll never know
Which is which
Real or not real
Cutting or healing
Loving or hating
For it’s the actions that count
In a day and age where we communicate
Through words we see on a screen
It’s dangerous for people like you
Who listen to those who cannot be seen
Because girls who read books
Can write you anything you want.
And you won’t be able
To tell the difference.

-Good.

They ask 'how do you write good poems?'
Well, just look at him...

I’m looking for your answer.
I want to grab it, strangle it,
manipulate it in my hands,
tear it out of the air
Force it into paper
And make it your answer.
Until it reaches into your brain
but pulls out your heart instead.
I want it to be beautiful,
I want it to be intricate
fashioned into words so descriptive
They give you tears of empathy.
I want it to smear into pictures
conveying your answer.
Because I am not your answer.
I will never be your answer despite
How much I wish I was,
How long I keep pretending.
As the breeze twists through the sky,
I reach up and I grasp
My fingertips tremble like
They are trying to reach to space.
I yearn for it to solidify
in my palms, but it doesn’t.
I can’t find your answer.
I can’t protect you,
I won’t.

It’s funny how I’ve tried so hard
to find your answer
when really I was looking for mine.
It comes to me like a cold shower,
like the morning sun in a window.
It’s wrapped up neatly in a thin box
But I decide I don’t want it.
I want it concealed, hidden away
With lost thoughts collecting dust.
Why can’t it leave me alone?
No more days where I am oblivious
Days when I thought I was sufficient
Maybe not now, tomorrow I said.
But I hear not tomorrow today.
After realizing it’s a facade
It’s not real, not permanent
I would rather live in the fairytale.
It’s hard. It’s like chalkboard nails,
It’s not music.
It’s not paint.
It’s not literature that takes you
Somewhere else and whispers
sweet nothings into your ear.
It’s me before you,
It’s reality.
Yet, somehow, I can’t believe it.

the little gaps between words or the letters between gaps.
they allow for thought, time, breath.

why not live a simpler life?
take all the gaps out of titles and make it one word that means so much more.

taking that gap out gives me the control.
the control to decide what you love, live, believe.

it's one breath im taking back from god. one thing i am gaining back.

a stand against freedom, literature, language.