1. |
communist
02:04
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I wish I didn’t have to live like this
Defined by money
I have to work to have worth
I’m not saying I wish work was abolished
I’m just saying
I wish it wasn’t a fight for first
I wish we weren’t told who was further in life
By how many zeroes were in their bank balance
If that is the case
I am in dead last
This is a triathlon
And I am currently unable to swim
I am gulpgulping in bodies of water
My lungs are full
While your wallet is full
I know you think communism is stupid
I understand why
I wish we understood together
And how we could be together
No longer separated by social class
This is no longer a pyramid
This is a rectangular prism
The measurements are 4 by 4 by 12
There are 192 square dollars to be distributed
To every person
I am begging my saviors
Karl Marx and Jesus Christ
To steal from the rich
and give to the poor
I will rename my saviors
Robin Christ and Karl Hood
Please do not force me to call me to call myself a name
I am not defined by that
I just believe in equality
I hope these lines equal some snaps
I am in need of your validation
Please snap for me
Please just snap until I think of my next line
I hope there is no next line
I hope the line for food banks stops here
I wish Communism hadn’t gone so wrong
How can I convince people I have good intentions?
Your defense consists of
“Look at every country that tried to implement it”
That is not what I like
I think you know what I like
I like equal opportunities
Please join me up here
It is your opportunity to speak
It is yours as well
Please
Speak your mind
I will listen
I hope you are listening now
Have my wishes put you to sleep?
I sure hope not
I am expected to sleep
On social issues, I am passionate about
So therefore, I am no longer well rested
My eyes are bloodshot
They are flaming red
I have become teary eyed
Oh, please Bono
Please find a platform for me
And you too
Let’s hold a communist manifest
A manifestation of good intentions
I hope good intentions come from this
I have no good intentions
This poem makes me sound hateful towards the rich
I am
See this is not fair
I am a slave to capitalism
But I will continue to work
Three hundred and fifty-six dollars and 48 cents
That is my current worth
I wish it was nothing
And now I am all
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2. |
desensitized
01:47
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i feel like i've become so desensitized lately
like im more concerned with trump's next move than what's happening in my own country
i feel like these things wont even surprise me anymore
i feel like ive fely everything im ever going to feel
like i'll never be as happy as i was when we saw star wars and ate burritos
and i'll never be as sad as i was on my last birthday
but that's how everyone feels at 17
and there are some days like today
completely in the middle
after im done reading this to you
ill sit in my chair and fiddle
or maybe i'll check tinder
that's where my mind is at right now
im itching to reach into my pocket to see if ive matched with anyone
im dying to not feel alone for once in a while
like these girls even give a shit about me
like anything i say has any feelings
my words are decomposting log in the woods
damp with dew
and crawling with ants
i feel like i wouldnt feel those ants either
like theyd crawl on me but id be so unaware
im watching cnn
the first 100 days
and these ants are crawling inside me
i cant stop swiping right
and reading bios
and looking at pictures of random people
but these ants are already inside me
i think i can feel them now
thats a start
wait
no
that was just twitter
some random person just liked my tweet
does that mean im famous
its an inanimate sensation finally something to feel
in hindsight it might be worse than nothing
im still watching trump
paul ryan is explaining everything hes saying
thats normal right?
im too desensitized to notice that its not
im too desensitized to notice that my mother just called him a retard
thats normal in his house
i feel the word linger in the air
its floating to the ceiling
there it sits with all the other insults that feel empty but carry so much
my house has become the log
it is filled now
the ants are still crawling though
i just cant feel them now
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3. |
we, who
02:33
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Walking contradictions who never stop
We personify the intangible
The neglected
The clouted
We, the generation who never fails to contradict
The contraceptives that never fail
We, who never fail to contradict
We, who state serious matters only to follow with a simple “jk” to avoid confrontation
We, who never fail to point out that we should never judge, yet rule the verdict before the jury decides
We, who passionately try to abolish the idea of time but still revolve around the same 1440 combination of numbers every day
We, who glorify self-love like a trophy, but only a plastic one for participation that our parents demanded before we knew the idea of losing
We, who fill books with hedonist prose but never fill ourselves with our own talents
We, who revolt against the idea of conformity but never take it upon ourselves to shift the paradigm
We, who hate the idea of being bourgeois but never try to lead a life not created before us
We, who write poetry about our problems but never address the problem head on, instead cowering behind couches in our moms living room worth more than all of my belongings combined
We, who always try but never hard enough, somehow only failing ourselves
We, who try new things like wiser figures suggest, only to face ridicule from god at the gates
We, who reject western religions but put ourselves on pedestals above god's reach, only then finding our true place
We, who prosper in arts, but only deem our own worth to be lower than the platforms we were given
We, who write until we bleed, only to give payments in the form of apple pay instead of our own original thoughts
We, who browse twitter and shamelessly steal ideas to put on our own profile, only to remember that none of us are original
We, who always forget our self-worth before selling out, where my only demand is “show me the money”
We, who transfigure cash incentive for one-minute experiences soon to be forgotten
We, who glorify the now, but only if the moment can live on my snapchat story a little longer than the 24 hour expiration date the internet gave it
But on the internet, everything lasts forever
In this generation, we will never die
Carbon footprints taking mile long strides from ever western coast
we were never the best coast
I can only prove my existence through mainstream and underground media standards and followers
The subliminal “@me next time” spoken in a room where only physical and verbal vibrations exist
Where the twitterverse blends in the universe like a too-faced palette
Being a gemini was never more ironic
The stars are only translated on tweets and I always read your horoscope as well
I never realized how similar we could be when we fulfill our own prophesies
I guess that’s what happens when we replace god
I am becoming god
We are becoming god
Only to be faced with the contradictions of another 2000 years
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4. |
fishing
02:16
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Once, but maybe a few times more
We wrote in stanzas
But only metaphorical ones
We destroyed the idea of form
We formed in new legions of wonder
Weighed the pros and cons of writing in Shakespeare prose
And only made vague attempts at balancing the shift of Pangea
We tried, but only hardly, to write unwritten poetry
Following Ginsberg, Bukowski, and Rimbaud
Rambling rewritten phrases because the first thought never seemed like the best thought
I only gave my poems little thought
But its an idea that I never got or gave
We are only as original as the books we write in
Moleskine jounals bought at cole’s for far more than they were worth
We searched for pennies for our thoughts fulfilling the starving artist archetype
The only type of arch I achieved was only momentary
The moments felt terrible while we were in them
Writing and writing and writing until it became habit and we did it in slo-mo
Habitual line after line only feeling the need to repeat the process to impress
The impression I received was more post-modern than it was van gogh
I signed all my poems “r mutt” and tried to ask tired questions like “whats the point”
I sound like myself mixed with all the other nihilist
I wrote my future in secondary journals and only used it as a backup when I felt lost
I just used it to rip up preconceived notions I gave birth to in earlier months
When love was an option instead of unrequited love
I took the easier path because I knew I could only rely on not having to reciprocate
It’s the same way with poetry I knew it never had to like me back
The depth of my words never had to be more the a kiddie pool
Ive always related more to a puddle that only existed after an extreme morning dew
I want my ink to come off under water so I shower with my book
I want my words to never be read and wash myself dirty with them
I want to stain my skin with my own bad ideas
I wish I could tattoo my own self-righteous words on my forehead but I could never commit to one favourite line one long enough
All the poems I write are to stream of consciousness to last forever
I feel like im just finding these in the river of my thoughts
That runs shallow too
I fish but only using a magnetic rod
The hook-line-and-sinker of sinking opportunities
If I fish up something good i'll just throw it back
I could never keep an idea for myself
It always needs to be shared
My ideas have grown an ego too
Mass-egotism spreading into all my works maliciously
The ego never ends
The poems never end
But maybe one day
They will
But before then
I promised myself
It would run a marathon
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5. |
tense present
02:00
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We do the same things on an everyday basis but it never feels monotonous
We live in nostalgia of times we never experienced
We experience time like its real but we reminisce in times before we even invented clocks
We remind ourselves that self-love is the pinnacle of living so we always climb the mountain until we get to tired to continue
Find an already dug cave and rest for the rest of our lives
We are always searching for our true selves but I lost myself on the trip there
I was so burdened by mainstream and underground media that I convinced myself that I found myself
Somewhere between an introvert and an extremist
Im going back to try to find the root of it but the only numbers that come up are uneven
Im reliving old relationships through new ones
Im going back to my old ways
Im writing 3 pages but with no point
The proof shows in my little black book
And explaining all my ideas through loose rhyme and metaphor
These ideas feel like my dads jeans
Too big but maybe with enough comfort and beer i'll fill into them
Im always talking about living in the now but my projection screams im a futurist
Im conflicted on where I want to be
Im not sure where I might end up
Im still not sure this makes any sense
Im writing in the present tense
I feel tense at the present moment
We’re pitching tents in the forests to get closer to nature
But only to blog text tweet repost and glorify about how we “love nature”
But only through smartphone lenses
The closest I felt to nature is when I joined it in a joint
I hope that my pale complexion wont be ruined by the sun I fell closest to
Im trying to fix myself like the axis every time I make a trip around the sun
My dad says “im proud of you son” but im not sure he knows why hes proud
I told him “dad pride is going to get you killed“ so he felt proud that I knew what he taught me what the original son of god taught him
We feel pride but only in major accomplishments
Like a c major scale
We only site it as major because we felt happiness in them
I felt pride when I came to terms with feelings
Even in sadness and shame and guilt
I felt pride because I reached my pinnacle
And I never felt like I settled half way up
But maybe I did
And at the pinnacle
Ill find my true self
And hope that all my selfish versions are there
Reading what they wrote
But reaping what each other sowed
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6. |
solipsism
02:03
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I was at work earlier this week
And my ego refused to listen to my boss
She said to me
“listen to me!
You are a being who is being INSUBORDINATE!”
and I said
“insubordination isn’t real”
So I got fired
But I realized while understanding the falsity of power and insubordination
That maybe none of this is real
And everything is a figment of my imagination
Meaning that supervisors are not real
Work is not real
Money is not real
Government is not real
Technology is not real
Law is not real
Deforestation is not real
War is not real
Death is not real
She, he, them are not real
Poverty is not real
His mystical visions and cosmic vibrations are not real
Capitalism isn't real
Ronald raegan isn't real
The war on drugs isn't real
But it also means
Donald glover isn't real
Allen Ginsberg isn't real
My friends aren't real
Shopenhauer isn't real
My 3 grams aren’t real
My mom dad brothers niece are not real
Milo is not real
Frank ocean is not real
Communism and karl marx are not real
Music isn't real
But I would choose to believe in solipsism
I would forsake all these things
If it were not for you
To think that you would not be real would be the worst part
I would not be able to dream you up in cerebral thought
For not even god, should he exist, could create you
And to think that you could not be real
Only a thing I thought up
My brain in a glass jar
Projecting visions of true, unfiltered perfectness onto you
A super 8 reel of all our memories playing on the blank wall of the 5th dimension of my brain
Where only my most profound thoughts live
Knowing that only you or I know the intricate details of the nights
The half-asleep hallucinations
Mesmerizing me like only your thoughts could
Knowing that you
An individual
Are real
And is just as real as the love we share and hold between us
Pressed between moleskine pages and thrifted clothes
And knowing that it would be and impossible thought to think
That you might not be real
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7. |
a poet
01:42
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I hate writing poetry
But im not a poet
I love writing poetry
But im not a fucking poet
no one’s a poet
poetry is so contrived
and we cant write a new word
I hate being constricted to a form
To being held to a label
Words are so minute
I wish I could communicate through your mind
Through my mind
Arriving at the back of your skull
And reverberate through the cosmos of your mind
I wanna write lines I like so you can snap so I can feel good about myself
so i can touch myself and say “you earned this”
So I can feel like language games are worth my while
And feel like shopenhauer pays off
And so I feel like less of a waste
Im sick of translating my thoughts to words and trying to impress you with my phrasing
The words don’t matter but I hate writing like I talk
And im still not a poet
Im just talking
Maybe the conversation will take place post-listening, post-reading, post mortem
I hope we can talk after death
A little bit of coffin talk before we sleep like after we fuck till we die
And maybe in the midst of all this I can figure out who I am
Who you are
Who we are
Who they are
Who where is
And what this all once was
Before we polluted it with post-industrial ideas and factories
And may we once return to dust
And forget our thoughts and dreams of lust
And greed and envy
Before god and satan knew us best
Only of which the latter instills any feeling in us
I want my feelings to mean something
And meanings to make feelings real
I want to grow and expand and protrude upon new ideas in the realm of false imaginations
I want to die in the name of something great
I want to die in the name of me
But I could never feel that self-righteous
I want to die in the name of language
I want to die in the name of poetry
I want to die as a poet
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