This weekend I pulled a skeleton out of some loose flesh for aesthetics.
I pulled a muscle in my butt for ass-thetics sake.
Where is a cult we can take over?
I don’t think you can make art ironically, I think you make art that is ironic, but there is a difference. Then the question is contextualization.
“There seems to be a thin line between shit posting and spiritual seekership.”
-Ana Pinto
I am doing both (frumpy aesthetics)
There are ants in my pants but no Wifi.
I have dead flowers underneath my pillow.
Will this cure my suspected endometriosis?
AI is eating my friend and the middle class. Boundaries.
Who needs them?
My Venus is in the house of fuckboys. I’m sorry
I hope you can read this but at the same maybe I don’t
I used to play the song “Living in America” for my Danish friend
The more fucked up things get the more I can relate
Maybe this is all a question about relate-ability
If I think about my exboyfriend does that make me straight?
Maybe I should present myself as more consistent to ease other’s anxieties
This poem is nostalgic for depth and meaning (ha)





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