i don’t want to write poetry anymore
no more sitting through lonely nights
trying to produce, convince, explain,
explain me to me, be creative,
make something new, make something good,
make it into that thing that’s missing.
no more ritualistic daily trips to the bakery
so that breakfast is sweet and makes me feel better.
no more wake up, work meeting, work, avoiding work,
depression, more depression,
thoughts within thoughts within thoughts
of how everything is wrong in my life right now.
no more panic.
no more curing it with youtube videos on autoplay until
it’s tolkien nerds on a zoom call,
and then back to the homepage and restart, because
that’s too much even though i love tolkien.
no more dreaming of a better life, better friends,
where I am heard and not just listened to,
where my parents live somewhere close,
where I live in Rome with a partner
who is exactly how I want him yet he never has a face
or his face is many faces superimposed,
so i can never find him on hinge.
no more hinge. no more grindr.
no more ass pics? looking? into? wya? wyd? pnp?
no more im just fucking lonely.
no more wanting to write better poetry,
not mopey poetry, something edgy, something about sex,
how i’m having a lot of it but don’t call it sex
and instead use some metaphor
with raspberries, razors, and leather,
how i purge them into a blender,
make a smoothie and down it again.
something like that to make him like me,
even though he already liked me.
no more needing years of therapy to believe that
people have liked me.
no more trips to SoHo to the therapist’s new office
that looks like an art studio or a gallery
with books stacked on the floor like exhibits,
with white noise machines breathing arduously
like captive animals at the arthouse zoo.
no more it’s 4am i need to go to bed,
but i don’t feel like i’m doing the right thing with my life
and i have this blistering feeling that i’ll find it now,
even though i know i won’t.
no more another war started.
no more another mass shooting.
no more democrats this republicans that.
no more news.
no more it’s a process, no more everything is a process.
no more it takes time.
no more it takes a lifetime, no more life is a journey,
when i'm already 35, have done nothing,
and it feels like i’ll be 50 tomorrow and die next saturday.
no more i need to write more. no more i need to read more.
no more looking for something to save me.
i just want to be somewhere warm
and in love.
Posted Oct 26, 2022, 9:14 AM UTC · edited