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Poetry Dump

There are lily pads big enough for babies to sit on in China. Sometimes my bones feel like they’re made out of mercury. Every day last week I felt like a stick in the mud and a leaf blowing in the breeze. What boys on dating apps lack in personality and sense of humor they make up for in persistence. Glass Animals just released a new album after 4 years of silence. What did they do in those four years? I never understood “The more you know the less you know” until it was explained to me that knowledge is an ever expanding ocean and the things you can keep inside your mind are an island that keeps getting bigger but so does the coastline and because of this your contact with the unknown expands simultaneously with your knowledge.


I keep feeling annoyed at people I love and ignoring texts and and declining phone calls because I‘ve been in a bad mood for about a month now and no one else deserves to feel that and every day I wonder, am I shaking because I’m anxious or excited or hungry or tired or because I live in the US? Am I selfish because I have a sibling or because sometimes I feel like I have nothing? Am I protective of my stuff because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life or because I’m just frustrated?


Sometimes I wish I could forget all the bad things that ever happened to me, but that would mean forgetting the good too, because life is inevitably the good and the bad intertwined and nothing really happens how you think it will and all I know is that the heartbreak is good for my art. It should be called art break because when it happens all the art breaks wide open.


I still so vividly remember the way the cars sound standing on a sidewalk in Mexicali, Mexico, less than an hour across the border from California. I didn’t know anyone who’d hurt me yet and I was eating crepes with a sister I never thought I’d have and her best friend who was becoming my best friend who owned the red truck that would drive us through the cobblestones streets after we finished our sticky sweet snack.


The sound of those streets are so similar to the ones in Guatemala, the ones that grow blistering hot in the day's sun and cool and crumpled after dark, the lights outside the stores covered in swarms of moths and flies. Bugs speak the same language in every country. Two weeks later towards the end of the trip we were in a tiny village with dirt paths for roads and packs of dogs that roamed around at night and we were instructed to walk home in groups in case they decided to attack. One night after class some of the boys were walking us home as if dogs would care for gender norms when they started chasing us, which they did, and all four of us started running, boys or not, until one of us had the brilliant idea to swing around, flashlight in hand. They disappeared back into the shadows like coconut oil melting on a pan.


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