Whatever I’m feeling is just underlying the infinite and infinite love I have for my fellow human beings
In which the clouds are paintings
All I experience is pleasure
I feel like I’m dancing w myself when I take a selfie
Life never ends
Why do I feel so wonderful? Because I can
omg the day is breathtaking so beautiful sky w trees and warm air that blows riding in an uber in love and my whole life and everything
I do my thing, you probably do yours
The world needs my poetry as much as I do
All the warmth I need is given freely by the sun and air
Every breath is a blessing probably who cares
Whoever I owe my life to, thank you
Even lying on the grass, I can’t help but give it my best
Why isn’t everything good?
The warm sun, the cool ground, somewhere in between I lie around
Im buying a sandwich!
Happy theo! Happy theo!
Happy theo happy happy theo!
Happy happy theo!
Tbh im fucking drunk we All hel
Oin yjr. Eyjrrroom mekiy tpuusrimj tikw
I want to live in a song
waking up feels like getting hit by a truck
I forgot im on drugs lol
Im just talking to myself in my room
I forgot my body exists
it feels like i just accidently started doing things today
maybe i feel naseuous i cant tell
Im just going to sit in the bathroom for an hour
i think im just trying to make something on google docs
at this point im just assuming people are interacting with me online
was i supposed to do things today
i forgot that twitter has like feeds of other people saying things
Im sick like a dog whos made of art and i feel love
Im so just not interested in being sober and not being online all the time
I feel invested in my self
Like i keep buying things and it feels like investing lol
feels beautiful, etc.
accidently am feeling good right now lol
the kind of existence where i dont kno i exist is very appealing
my typos r v aesthetically pleasing
I want every person to be girls except me
Enjoying the day is so nice
Lol at being happy
Being outside and not hating myself seems ideal
life is a flower
life is being happy and working hard
kept thinking, "I can't believe Theo," and laughed
very me today
jesus christ my life omg
what color is the internet?
I put my face near a squirrels face and i angrily whispered, kiss me kiss me u wild animal
the weather feels like how I feel
I want to be late for work today
is my life over? I'm 19
people to do drugs with on the internet
had a dream about kissing but I forgot who I was kissing
when ppl try at anything it seems so beautiful that I start to cry
just trying at something takes the most energy imagineable, it seems other worldly
I want to wear a stylish dress and walk a small dog in the summer time
smoking a cigarette lying in the sun
can't feel more like a poet than tweeting on a beautiful day like today
fav ur friends tweets
retweet that thing u like
life is too short
love stuff in general
who even needs something to do
can't help but see the beauty filled in everything
appreciate being able to tell u guys this
love expressing things
feel too in love to care about dying
surprised by how much I am
omg the day is breathtaking so beautiful sky w
Caseyrenée Lopez is a non-binary queerfemme atheist living in the Deep South. They write their pain as poems, & in addition to editing Crab Fat Magazine, run TQ Review & Damaged Goods Press in an effort to platform marginalized writers/artists, particularly queer and trans folks. Their first chapbook of poems, QueerSexWords, was published by Yellow Chair Press in April 2016. Follow them on Twitter @caseyreneelopez.
redacted by siobhan roca
Siobhan Roca (@vonnrocapayne) is not a very punctual person. She's a writer, editor, and performer from Chicago, currently in SAIC's MFA program. She writes for Hooligan Magazine and works for Cards Against Humanity. She believes in love, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
2 poems by scherezade siobhan
MIRA AS VICTIM TYPOLOGY
MIRA, AFTER FATHER'S RADIATION THERAPY
my drunk uncle’s tongue. I place the poem between a prayer and a profanity.
Here is the plucked rooster of my mouth, redder than an exit wound.
Here are the crows blacker than my grandmother’s misspelled tattoos.
I swallow the root of turmeric. Stuff my cheeks with cupful of cardamoms.
Here’s to homemade antidotes, a halt in the hell of motion sickness. Purge
the vomit with goatmilk & camphor oil. Chew the marigold off the garland
coiled around his photograph like a sedated viper. Mourning fills the gaps
in my memory in an inexact dose of steroids. Any absence creates
the illusion of closeness. A callus grows on my big toe and I séance
the cratered fiction of skin with the pinprick of a hairclip. When
the cancer came, his cells dominoed as if a cheap loss in a game of tetris.
His lung x-rayed in a charcoal map of the Andaman. Summer tiptoed
a month later than usual. The henna green swirl of my skirt had stilled itself
by then. My mother’s anklets divorced their bells, were unhooked, shoved deep
into the throat of a mango wood cupboard. Every evening we sat on the porch
-swing in his hand-built pagoda. The obi of darkness rearranging
the geometry of our grief. The fingertips of java plum trees elongated
with the extempore of parrots. My mother’s eyes as bloodshot as their beaks.
These birds never leave home, she said. They’d turn feral and empty out any tree.
They’d rust a cage with the clockwork of mimicry. But they stayed.
No diaspora clings to their wingspan. No pilgrimage across the arbor vitae
of hemispheres. So, we sat back and let the green venery wrap the dusk
in an epilogue of plumes. Our hands cupping the storm whispering
inside each teacup. Our bodies turning silver with rain.
Scherezade Siobhan is an Indo Roma Jungian scarab moonlighting as a clinical psychologist. Her writing has been translated into multiple languages as well as featured in various digital and physical spaces and can be found in literary magazines, anthologies, international galleries, rehab centers and in the bios of okcupid users. Her digital collection of poems “Bone Tongue” was published by Thought Catalog Books and her full length poetry book “Father, Husband” was recently released by Salopress UK. Her next poetry pamphlet will be published by Pyramid Editions in 2017. She created and now curates a global dialogue on gendered violence & street harassment called "The Mira Project" and can also be found squeeing about militant bunnies atwww.viperslang.tumblr.com or @zaharaesque on twitter.
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