Does Sappho Love Anxious Lesbians?: a poem

Two spritzes of confidence on each cheek,

makeup for shattered skin and shaken

dreams. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the fruit

isn't ready and neither are you.

Bills fly away with burning wings

can objects be of Icarus' spirit

with age running delayed to her

expectations?

Colorful dolls in layers of shine

match the beats of a younger heart

laugh without lies, smile without cries

Take me home so I feel warm inside?

Maybe I should be warm all on my own

nothing to offer, no sweet to balance out the sour

burn that diploma so no one thinks I'm a liar

after all, age is just a societal number

Don't got a job, don't have a life, does that mean

I'm failing on both sides? Sometimes I forget I don't feel

ready to know the ocean won't sweep me away

for knowing that I am behind you.

Mind and biology pull in opposite directions

pushed in front of an oncoming train with no sense of being

ready. Phases of joy smashed into a thousand pieces on a pre-marked

date of expiration

Living world shoves you out the door of ages

before you're ready, so you hide the clock's

delay of a thousand milliseconds.

Self-discovery comes seven years too late.

Comments

Meow, Meow.

Here’s a silly little post about the cat that’s been wandering around my neighborhood lately. He’s pretty friendly! One of my friends commented that my messages read like poetry, so I turned the text into a poem. [originally posted on Instagram.] 💞 There was cat yesterday. The cat likes me. He was following me back to my house. This is not my cat. It is my neighbor’s cat. I cannot catnap a cat. I still don’t know the cat’s name, so I’m calling him Kitty Cat. His ears twitch when he hears me talking. The cat distribution system cannot be denied.

Fourth Wing: A Review

It's been a while since Fourth Wing took BookTok by storm, catapulting itself to the top of people's TBR lists with promises of dragons, and sass, and sassy dragons. The avid chatter caught my attention, but I held off on reading the book for precisely that reason. With opinions clamoring for your focus, skewing your independent perspective with their own, it was impossible to tell if the book deserved the praise that it was being handed. So, I waited... and waited... and waited some more. I readily admit that, upon buying the book from a wholesale club, I finished Fourth Wing in two or three days. With that being said, there were a few fairly large snags in the plot which disrupted my sense of disbelief. When a character is written specifically for a trope, they can be difficult. Xaden knows that he is unlikeable- not just from Violet's perspective, but by the quadrant as a whole- and uses it to his advantage when his life becomes entwined with the daughter of his father...

Too Much Crying

Everything used to be big when I was small, or maybe it was just that it was the same size and I was shorter. Sometimes I have vague memories of a hallway that I no longer know, each step tall enough that I had to lift my leg high up to my waist to climb up them. There was someone waiting at the top for me, a nondescript figure in brown heels. The ones that look like they have a T going across them. With each step that I take up the stairs, her mouth moves. I can’t comprehend that she is talking to me. Colorful paint has been put on all of my fingers by a tall lady, who probably isn’t that old but she’s so much taller than me that I can’t see the top of her. Taller than the highest tower that I can build out of blocks, taller than me until they go falling down. It was hard work to build that tower of blocks, and I cried when they fell down. I didn’t like seeing my tower fall down. Just like when the tall lady puts the paint on my hand, I start to cry because it is cold. I do...

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