Whoopsy Daisies

Weird Poetry

I know

That I am guilty

Of thinking a poem

Is about me

When it actually is


Paranoia, terror and wishful thinking can feel one and the same when reading other people’s poetry.


Same goes the other way;

If you think a poem

That I have penned/tapped/bled

Is about


There is a high likelihood,

A very high one, actually,

That it is


It is probably just about





*** You’re so self-absorbed, Toots. ***

*** Everyone has their vice. I am my own. ***

I’m no Goddess

Weird Poetry

I’m no Goddess;

I am clotted blood and clawed nail.

I’m no Goddess;

I’m a collection of fetal fossils

Curling into myselves

Like fractals

Unseen to the naked eye.

I’m no Goddess;

I’m dirty tears and carnal knowledge.

I’m no Goddess;

I’m unshared fantasies and subsequent shame.

I’m no Angel;

My wings burned up

The moment my feet left the ground.

I’m no Empress;

I only play one on T.V.

I’m no Poet;

Just a loquacious attention-whore

With a penchant for pretty words

I cannot lure out

Of my own shadows.

And I’m no Motherfucking Muse;

The only words I inspire are the ones

That never see light of day.


I Just Wanna Stay In Bed

Weird Poetry

Tendrils of sleep creep and curl up my legs,

Pulling me back into my bed,

And into my sleepy little head,

Where visions of Bowie’s Labyrinthine bulge dangle and jangle before my star-crossed eyes.

Why do I always have to wake up?

I miss my underwater dream world, where everything is always wet and warm.

But here I am… trying to get dressed,

Trying to detach from my other reality that I can scarcely remember,

But feel in every pore of my bones.

Today will feel long. Like the journey to the Goblin King’s castle… if it were underwater,

Where everything is in slo-mo and silent…ish.

This reality is too fast and loud for me right now. Shit.