Pinned toot
Pinned toot

I should probably post an introduction to pin on my profile but at this point I'm just like "pls support your local magpie poet, she likes ramen and eggs and shiny things and will give you words in return."

Also

"Eater of hearts currently rebuilding her empire of mugs in a non disclosed location that is no longer London."

Or maybe just.

"Tired poet does words for you whether you like them or not. Is soft please don't startle."

Yeah that'll do.

So I've been posting a lot from archive lately here, but the last months I've been working on a massive twine project for a university course, and as soon as it's passed through grading in about 3 weeks I will make it available for you all.

It's called City With, and it's a hypertext poetry heavy narrative.

illustration by @Poudingue

A List of Ghost Thoughts

- I want to be touched again
- I want to be touched
- I want to be touched
- I want to be touched
- I want to touch
- I want touch
- I want to be again
- I want again

(title and prompt from my good friend twitter.com/johannespunkt/stat )

I'm really happy about the patreon poem at the end of this month and it'll be up shortly, I'm just doing 5 different things with my exams and editing it at the same time. Multitask brain goes brrr.

The old house I lived in had pigeons in the wall.
It was both soothing and unsettling.
To wake up to the cooing of hungry things in the night,
breathe into the walls, the soft vibration of,
to me,
alien vocal cords strumming through my head.
It was the year I started building more and more elaborate nests,
it was the year I envied them their feathers, but not their broken bones.
We eat scraps of this city, we crawl up against the wall and coo ourselves asleep.

We belong to Nostalgia.
For whatever we do steeped in her name
is stronger than what we do to each
other.
Kiss me like I am here,
forget the mouth I was
the words I spoke,
when we were trembling
and unafraid.

My friends and I wear each others traumas
like friendship bracelets,
woven through with trigger warnings and determined voices.
We sing odes to the selfies and soft parts
of our bellies exposed and jaws bent back to
show our throats. I do not tell them about the
daydream where they don’t exist and I alone
clean up my mess. It’s quieter this way,
I bare my throat to the monster of my imagination,
he is not soft with me. I do not ask him to be.

Show thread

There is a herd of ghosts in my computer that tells me I’m not alone,
it’s a collection of poetry and friendly voices,
‘if you were here’ dirty messages at 1 am.
My three day old baked potato stares at me in judgement,
and I know, I know the difference between hands
across from me on a table, and my hands dancing
a lonely tango on a keyboard.
I have re arranged this bedroom three times lately and not once
did it fill a space
in me the size of a city. Or a person.

>

Show thread

In my daydream I serve more beer than I drink, I clean the tables,
I collect my wages, I eat chow mein with chicken just the way I like it
without any bean sprouts. The monster follows me home,
I let him. I put his claws in my mouth.

>

Show thread

I have a daydream where the world has ended
and I work in a bar.
you’d think I’d pick something else
but no, I wear a black uniform with too much cleavage,
the bar is lit up
by pink and yellow neon lights.
In my daydream the handsome monster asks me
‘what did you do, before the world ended?’ and I say nothing.

>

My friends and I wear each others traumas
like friendship bracelets,
woven through with trigger warnings and determined voices.
We sing odes to the selfies and soft parts
of our bellies exposed and jaws bent back to
show our throats. I do not tell them about the
daydream where they don’t exist and I alone
clean up my mess. It’s quieter this way,
I bare my throat to the monster of my imagination,
he is not soft with me. I do not ask him to be.

Show thread

There is a herd of ghosts in my computer that tells me I’m not alone,
it’s a collection of poetry and friendly voices,
‘if you were here’ dirty messages at 1 am.
My three day old baked potato stares at me in judgement,
and I know, I know the difference between hands
across from me on a table, and my hands dancing
a lonely tango on a keyboard.
I have re arranged this bedroom three times lately and not once
did it fill a space
in me the size of a city. Or a person.

>

Show thread

In my daydream I serve more beer than I drink, I clean the tables,
I collect my wages, I eat chow mein with chicken just the way I like it
without any bean sprouts. The monster follows me home,
I let him. I put his claws in my mouth.

>

Show thread

I have a daydream where the world has ended
and I work in a bar.
you’d think I’d pick something else
but no, I wear a black uniform with too much cleavage,
the bar is lit up
by pink and yellow neon lights.
In my daydream the handsome monster asks me
‘what did you do, before the world ended?’ and I say nothing.

>

We belong to Nostalgia.
For whatever we do steeped in her name
is stronger than what we do to each
other.
Kiss me like I am here,
forget the mouth I was
the words I spoke,
when we were trembling
and unafraid.

you leave your phone number in sharpie on the three of swords.
Cliches have a dull power
that beckons like roses.
The short hand lazy and easily
forgotten. They call. You come again
to the house on the hill to eat their oranges
and cherries,
to drown them in your hair.
You are the dance, the music and the breath.

you leave your phone number in sharpie on the three of swords.
Cliches have a dull power
that beckons like roses.
The short hand lazy and easily
forgotten. They call. You come again
to the house on the hill to eat their oranges
and cherries,
to drown them in your hair.
You are the dance, the music and the breath.

A Lullaby For November Reluctances To Sleep

patreon.com/posts/43796790

So, take the grey skies around yourself
like down duvets and blankets,
wrap the evening around you like arms.

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