I Hate It When I Cant Even Write A Poem About Something Because Its Too Obvious. Like In The Airbnb I

i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point

the act and its consequences.

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

to change

"to change," - a piece on grief and life after loss. I died that day, too. I will never be the same and neither will the world. But thank you; thank you for your pride and love. Thank you for giving me something to mourn and celebrate. Spring is of no great importance, but the rain is sweet and the sun is soft, as if nature too, has weathered after you left.

(crossposted on @/vrs.culdesac on Instagram and on Medium.)

"It does come to a close and you sort of look behind you when it's over and you're like "Well whatever childhood was, that was it. It's over, now." and that you feel it and your parent feels it and it's difficult and it's hard to know if you're ready for whatever the next step is but it doesn't really matter if you're ready because it's already there. It's already happening." (Greta Gerwig)

The House That Built Me - Miranda Lambert/ @robertszombie/ unknown/unknown/half return - Adrianne Lenker/unknown/ @ryebreadgf/ unknown/unknown/ the very last country song - Sugarland/ unknown/ @ryebreadgf/ ladybird - dir Greta Gerwig/The House That Built Me - Miranda Lambert/ @firstfullmoon /unknown/unknown/Langstqon Hughes, "Poem"