seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from Pakistan
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Malaysia
seen from South Korea
seen from Italy
seen from China
Self deprecating
Review timeline
Lock in dates
Delusional affect
Too good for that
Too filthy for that
Damned mosquito bites
Only thing worth scratching
At least
Those fuckers
Draw blood
Assholes
My digital footprint
Tongue wagging
In
LOL
Asshole
Too pretty
To be
This
Desperate
Even when
It’s half
The fun
-E
04/28/2026
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His smile was like an ornamental knife presented in a painted box, like warm, yet glaring sunlight, like icicles melting, like cardboard ripping apart to be recycled like a stubborn hurricane with a tantrum and I was standing right in the eye of it, like burning soup on the winter solstice, like a thorny rose a hive full of bees and honey an overflowing river drowning the grass until it couldn’t be anything else but green. Like the screech of a microphone, like the pachinko machines in Tokyo, like metal against whetstone, a window shattering, a bone snapping back into place in an antiseptic room, like a blinding eclipse, uneven chair legs, like a wolf prowling the shadows, like the burn of alcohol on an open wound, striking a match against sandpaper, the thunk of an arrow finding its mark, a cat hissing at his own reflection, like lemon wedges shoved into my cheeks like velvet rubbed the wrong way like a thousand paper cuts and not enough bandaids, like the Lochness monster who shouldn’t even exist, like a streak of paint, like being socked in the gut five times, enough to make me nauseous like knocking back cough medicine, like the light-headed sensation of getting the flu shot and cradling the bruise three days later.
— bittersweet (h.a.l.) | based on Sweet Like a Crow by Michael Ondaajte
the hunt
The afternoon is only barely melting into evening when we find the corpse on the side of the road. A deer, yes? Yes, deer -- cracked open like a pomegranate from belly to arched neck, ribcage yawning wide. I stretch the vowels of your name until I feel my own jaw pop. How lovely the body is when it pushes itself too far, how beautiful to feel the consequence. I have often yearned for consequence, and a boundary within which to feel it, be it your open questing arms or the uneasy threat of a car head- light’s yellow pool. The blood on the body is not vibrant unless it is illuminated. The deer is murky-dark except for where the light catches black syrup and shames it red, and I know I am not this kind of animal because I feel safe in the glow, where I am seen by you. Is there another animal you’d rather be? (Dear, yes? Yes, dear --) I would give you either half of this wishbone, help you suck the marrow from the shank. Crack into this evening with me, take a leg before the maggots come; fresh kill leads very quickly to rot and not all rot gives you wine. Sometimes all you get is the dead and then you have to decide which part to eat, tossing dirt over whatever is left behind. I have found that the predators are the ones who know how to hold themselves still. Will you prove me wrong? You tuck hair behind your ear and I see just where to put my teeth, if I can bear to bare them, tonguing over an incisor until it stings. Trust tastes like copper, like rust, and I imagine my car’s body hovering over the deer’s like a wolf with its engine humming. It’s that sound that gives me pause. Rumble of engine, rumble of purr. There is nothing that I would not be for you. I would follow you, nice and quiet, until the flash of violence and slick hot spill. Wouldn’t you like that, to be quiet? Would you prefer I be nice?
My farther is always angry with me
'cause I leave my window open
All the time
He says it is too cold or hot outside
But still
I leave them open
´cause I am hoping
That one day
Peter Pan will rescue me
From reality
And he takes me to Neverland
Reason why I keep my window open
~LondonBlossom
i used to shine,
i used to be gold,
now i find,
my soul has gone cold;
bu the fire in my eyes,
it never did die;
it keeps me warm,
it ignites my storm.
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I’m bad at poems but this is how I’m feeling so 🤷🏻♀️
Paranoia
Insecurity
These two things have become too familiar to me.
My perspective is shot
Doesn’t matter where I am,
How I feel,
Who I’m with
My thoughts are intrusive to the point of abusive.
I don’t know who I am and I can’t silence these two close “friends”
poetry teeters on the edge of insanity
you keep me safe you keep me sane you hear my cries you heal my pain before you i was lost and nothing made sense before you i was broken but that’s all past tense because now i am home now i’ve been found i know what true love is now that you are around
(cc, 2018)
