|the reasons I keep going back to this pen, paper, typewriter.|
your-methamphetamine writes poetry that punches the reader in the gut. It is heart-wrenchingly real, and it never fails to move me. It is evocative and poignant, getting the truth of the matter in both astounding and unsurprising, both straight-forward and back-alley entrances: she utilizes all of these approaches and leaves the reader gasping, breathless for more. Check out her gallery!!
your-methamphetamine creates a new world with each piece the pens. It's as if she opened a door into her mind and is letting you view her intimate thoughts. The images in each of her writings are gorgeous beyond measure, letting the reader visualize perfectly what she is trying to convey, and imagine exactly what feelings she had when she was writing the piece.
your-methamphetamine writes with amazing intrigue. Her pieces are at once heartwrenchingly revealing and mysterious – they beg to be read and reread until the lovely haze is cleared leaving the characters exposed and related to. The words fit together as if they could not be arranged any other way which lends a natural cadence to them.
artwork above by The--Strategist
eighteen | nomad | wanderlust-bitten | yugen-driven | effervescent | loved | forgetful | words and music ventilated | still getting used to these- legs, arms, fingers | mastering the art of being left behind | human
I fancy myself a youth slam poet, guilty of falling in love with the unfamiliar. I have been published over at The Missing Slate, Modern Day Fairy Tales and cahoodaloodaling. my first spoken word album, the articulation of my vertebrae is now available for download on my bandcamp! go get your copy!
i never make the same mistake,
except when i do.
i crossed the street with my eyes closed
and hoped to hear the siren,
not the screeching of tires
nor the sighing
of my last loved breath
being violently reft,
nor the screams
of the ones
i have left.
i will write a book
on how to dig up a road full of gold
with broken fingers,
how to uproot an ocean
then bury yourself beneath it,
how to live with a cross
that you nailed.
i am better
for having known you.
i am more aware
of my human
i am seeing
that my hands don't weave,
i am worse
than i thought.
i never make the same mistake,
except when i do.
i feel my body
and two eyes
bite my tongue
and chew nails
i swear i fought
as well as i knew how;
i'll wear these mirror shards
i shook my hollow bones
at passages leaden,
filled my lungs with
asked reefs to skin;
but look, i am charybdis
and i am coming around again
and i am loud enough
when i close my eyes it gets darkall i tried to be was everything.gliitchlord
make you laugh, let you sing.
maybe i'm a parody,
maybe i'm a peregrine.
maybe i dove in too fast.
maybe you're a growing thing,
not exactly perfect and
not precisely crystalline.
maybe you just stretched your wings
to see if they could carry you.
both of us were blindly risking
everything, i swear to you.
we were tinder laced with gasoline,
ready for the kindling.
kinder words and ashen feet.
ciphered worth and lasting reefs.
cinders swirling happily,
tender as the lapping sea.
limber as a jasper ring.
maybe we were everything
we needed to prepare us
for the only end we ever earned:
our catastrophic perish.
slipped discographybecause when your diatribegliitchlord
concludes, my mouth
is a desert that no human
could weather. it is
lovely how this drought
envelops my esophagus
and turns my seized innards
with pinpoint grace.
it is lovely,
no matter the tombstones
or the dripping venom
or the strung out
that nurtured it.
no matter how many times
forced the fore
to try again.
it is lovely
because I knew from the first day
that you were more
than any of us knew
more than you yourself
could properly write.
and this light
to dry up inadequate seas
and triumphantly plant your
stainless steel ankles
on the depths we carved
hastily, to proclaim after
years of mishandling and
I am beautiful.
and you are.
you always have been and
we simple oceans
were necessarily fools
in your aura. blind to
the mysteries we were trying
to store up in our heads
and our hands
you outgrew our typographic errors
and over eager glitches
and you becam
tell a liei. rivers are stronger than oceans despite their sizeanobrain
they tumble through sharp mountains
but they never, ever stop
ii. i can rush and pick up sediments
and disperse them where i wish
iii. i'm lying -
i knew you saw it anyway,
there's seaweed in my fingernails
and salt on my breath
rara avislook upon your graphitegliitchlord
with the pride
of all anguish sated
lately your edacity
for serotinal complications
are misprizing your
you are sapient
a paragon of
that i am
maladroit to prove
your dictum ossified
in paean bloom
and patient looming
esperantomosaic organ beatsthesquareroot
a keystone in this cataclysm
where every giant spider speaks
the same universal language
and every emblem breached gives way
to a roiling, blithe bonanza
where we can normalize the weak within
their innocuous intentions
and i think my sister's pregnant
with another weathered contranym
for these raw and harrowed days out-numbered
by technical miasma
and anecdotes so honed they seem
as tired as they are compelling
notice the fluidity of my unbackspaced fingers -
no that’s a lie I need it to be perfect you are perfect and I am
trying so fucking hard to be - you are
the scent of winter mornings, musk
of intimacy, smooth-scratchy whispers
of broken French and
mine. I never need to erase the only truth as unworthy of denial
as the uncertainty of grass behind the fence
we’ll never see past.
are mine and your body
utters it, shapes its lucidity
around it. when you see this fluidity
in my clumsy, flimsiness
do you smile?
do you pride yourself a puppeteer
or do you let gravity fall victim
to your contentment’s excuses?
read this aloud, I have yet
to teach you how to tongue meaning out of my words
till they submit to your vocal intent.
your arms have learned
intimacy in my accents all over again;
I am a woman of so many words
I will drag you with my uncertainty
till you take it from my unkind sights,
nurse it back to insatiable
thirst and burn our throats enough
to show novice windows how it’s done
show me how it is done.
walk fear to the cul-de-sac and make it stay
so it never comes back and make it remember
that these embers cry for firewood when all we’ve done
is chop trees when we forgot
you are mine and there is no forgetting
remember that seeing you feels like
watching a drunkerd spill his thoughts into a microphone;
I can’t stop snapping my fingers around you
where were you standing when the ground
swept from beneath these piscean feet?
yes I still believe in stars and yes
I will ask you to name constellations and yes
I am taut like locks in hairpins and prim
the way thoughts are conditioned
but it’s only because I’m missing the ease I had
to hate me. when you call me beautiful I want
to keep my eyes open, I want to watch
warmth tickle your pomacious cheeks as you
digress and insist
I will not resist this
I am calculated to chaos, a storm
in its humble wake and you have made
peace with my rumbling quakes.