he said I was a square
he said I was pretty stupid
I told him explain
he started his thesis:

you don’t paint your face
you don’t paint your nails
you tie your hair in a frigid ponytail
you got thin lips
a fatty figure
and you don’t exactly wear nice things
with frills and lace
you play videogames
you got a degree for nothing
and you are so aggressive

technically you remind me of a bum not a girl


I replied:

my face is not painted as I fight no cosmetic war
my nails are a nice sheen with hard enamel
my ponytail measures a sensual mathematical angle
my lips are real and not a botox stand
I am imperfect I cradle no lies in this
but I do well in video games
my pretty is a colour machine not a monochrome
my figure is malleable and not only bone

while your bum is ugly warts; and I have to be aggressive for you thought that was fine once

I don’t have time for this
you can leave
no one’s stopping you



Time you narrow minded fuck
you obscene paparazzi
I saw you photographing my moments
on your tabloid circus
you idiotic piece of trash
I want to gobble you
and see you for you really are
to them you are such a porn-star
but you are just lonely
people only see you in cloudy schedules
I’ll kiss you okay
then we can just be
as it should

P.S. I think I love you so just hang in there


there is something about thinking
like ice and flame serenade
like foam and butter, cancer and scars —

— we are all together; separated by separateness
at the same time like conjoined twins making bubbles
inside a womb all for us; “Us” being eternal which blood or race cannot
erase as it cant erase our DNA sequence.