a hottt springtime poem
(2021)
Writing from my experienced brain
Moss Diaries
Dry Spring, (2021)
you think i am a soft touch
well, i am
a soft touch, indeed
so soft in fact
you might find yourself a bit reluctant to touch me
i am alright with this
i like to think of myself as a bit frightening
though, really, no one seems to think so
i wear an easy smile
I am not sure you believe that i am frightening
you seem to feel compulsion to touch me
just to see what it’s like
to touch something so soft
so seemingly safe
you press your hands onto me
and my softness grabs onto you as well
I gaze at you noticing
you are enjoying yourself
& proudly blasé about it all
but I am wet & it is humid out
which I love
but suddenly you can not handle it
you cannot breath as i smother your air
i am alright with this
i love to smother surfaces, i am moss
though, no one seems to think of me this way
I wear an easy smile
this confuses you
& you seem to feel compulsion to leave me
just to avoid humiliation
you are afraid of having touched something too soft
something that stole your breath away
you feel dizzy, sick &
unsettled
I am almost always soft,
when i can be, &
I am often humiliating myself
I am blissfully dizzy in my cozy section
& quite used to the thrill of it all
i gaze upon you as you stumble away in a hurry
a bit more disheveled than the last one on the trail
Wet summer, (2021)
A love poem
Wednesday Jul 28, 2021
dissecting mom in FL., 2021
Mother gave a gift when she left
But it was too big and made your brain fall out
He lifted you by the waist
And it was too high
And he was proud
When you landed he boasted
In the grass mother smirks
As eyes roll
2017
Spell castings
Weed content <3
wait a minute...
possessing weed is a privilege
pass it
i fkn love weed man
there’s still this stigma against marijuana? it’s true my days are kind of mixed up and that my memory is a little swishy. But i’ll love weed no matter what. i dont give a fk. i don’t really need or want to liv chronologically anyways. im functioning in some other way, figuring it out, it’s cool. i dig it. i fkn love weed, man. weed is chill to me, good to me, and loves me. weed is always telling me, “whoa the fuck girl! slow down!” & for a while weed was making me feel anxious to slow. I was feeling so fast from the meds i was taking to stay focused in school. icky times. But I never quit on weed, because I’ve known in my heart, that weed is on this planet for me and others to be a guide. to teach me things about myself. to teach me to live radically and passionately, and to apologize less. to slow down in this really fast world. She makes me think & feel, in ways i can’t always see. She’s like, “babe, where are you going to so fast? take time. you need to chill the fuck out.” or “make the popcorn we like.” She’ll ask things like, “so why tf are we in this situation right now?” She'll say no, or she'll let me say yes and then she'll hop in later and help me say no. The whole time weed has been in my life our relationships has grown and blossomed, the way a parent to a child does. 4real you guys. weed is holding me out here!! like a momma and a daddy (kiss kiss). so in case you didn't know. maybe its just something familiar, nostalgic. fuck i dunno! but she’s here. <3 #weed4lyfe #weedismom #weedisdaddy
No thanks
The self sabotage,
I'll tell you, is real..
Sometimes I catch her wrapping her watch around things like lamps or placing things in odd places. I think, “What?! Is happening? I gotcha!”
When I don’t catch her it can take days, months, years for me to discover “oh there is the watch, the watch she held around her wrist, my wrist, my watch. I finally found my watch.
HIGH && PRODUCTIVE
Yardwork
My yard is some work
when it begins to return back to life (springtime)
I weave around the garden with the push-mow.
A Scott Classic.
Orange wheels with a green frame. simple. productive.
Dad always used a scythe at 8pm to scare the teenagers next door
took a while for us to become friends.
In the late morning, you get some sun & the grass is dry
I puff on some pot
that’s when I usually take the push mow for a little jaunt
front and back i speak with the plants
a few “hey theres,” many “sorries” & some “whoopsies”
listen to the birds, wave to the neighbors
the push-mow works best motivated by the hips rather than wrists & shoulders
I sweat & gulp some water on hot days
I puff on some pot
& think the grass might be screaming at me
sometimes I go barefoot
sometimes the grass gets all caught up in the blade
so i pause a moment to clean it out.
often it's only a stick
I mow some parts where I have to rearrange the chairs to get under them
so i do move a few chairs while i’m out there.
The work can be laborious
but also seamless
mindless
so I enjoy it.
The Escapist
He thought they wouldn’t notice his exit. But they did, and as he left the room, the air stiffened with bewilderment. The room, knowing him, began to worry amongst one another, but ultimately they let him go. They loved him. He was complicated and boiled about in the hallway for a few moments, convincing himself of his thoughts and his reasoning for rage, but confusion and fury kept getting in the way. He flipped the table in the entryway, creating a crescendo of shattering objects. She came to find him because she, among the crowd, couldn’t let him go. He sensed her worry and fled, escaping from the burden of explaining himself. Her chest fluttered, trembling with her shoulders, forehead, and neck. Sense and reason had left her as well. Her spirit collapsed in her body, remembering his words, the bits of his pain, which was revealed to her. Not knowing where his thoughts had taken him, she scrambled to find him, but their connection was lost.
“We can fix this!” she said aloud, hoping he would hear.
Not a word in reply.
He was gone.
She felt herself accept this and cry. She felt worse, then a fraction stronger.
Then she wondered to herself if he had cried. Or if he had placed his sentiments aside, replacing them with distracting fixations.
“Please cry,” she said aloud, several times
Still no reply.