12:22 am to 3:43 am

I easily get chained to the past and future, 

And am slow to unwrap the present

Big pink bow, ready, for me,

To enclose up in.

I can try on seven personalities

Just for size and fit, fling them

To a pile, not the right texture,

Feel between my fingers,

And spiral into insanity wondering

If I really should have been all

These women I dreamt of last night

Awake, not asleep, eyes wide open,

Pacing in a room I spend too much time in

Thinking I'm a prisoner but the door is unlocked

I got a full tank, and really

If we are being honest

I am exactly where I want to be

Just hate that that's me.

genuinely feel like I could be going insane somedays

Lionsgate Portal

I've never cared about the "Lionsgate Portal," primarily because I considered it one of those hokey, white-girl-made-up TikTok manifestation things. Like, first of all, why would the most important, most powerful manifestation day be on 8/8 every year? Astrology doesn't follow our modern calendar. Hell, 8/8 is based on a calendar that required a leap day every four years because, at some point, someone got the math wrong by a quarter of a day.

So no, universal energy doesn't go by that.

But then today, I was thinking: if all these Instagram girls believe in the Lionsgate Portal and do something on that day, there have to be at least a million girls. Maybe more. And if they're all consciously working to tap into some metaphysical source...then maybe it's a distance coven kind of thing.

Soft Submit

Whisper words I won't understand

into my ear after you've knelt

down to kiss my feet, on top

and in the arch that fits so

neatly, evenly, keenly,

the curve of your cheek,

still warm from breath.

And you don't need

to believe in God to believe in me—

just light sandalwood incense

and keep on offering.

Walk two steps behind me,

hands clasped behind your back,

as the ribbon that ties my silk robe,

frayed at one end,

is so loosely bowed

and tempts you so.

impudent/ˈimpyədnt/

I don't mind the Instagram grifters—

the minute-long videos, aggressively

pointing, exaggerated face,

yelling how if you just invested

in yourself, your life would be right—

This dress will make him want you.

This e-book on confidence. This crystal

on a weak chain to manifest

a bad bitch year. And don't forget

to like and share and follow.

No, I don't mind that,

'cause I got enough years 

to know a scam—
Having fallen for a few.

But it's the real people with the youth

and freedom I long traded away,

scared of a quiet night alone

with the expanse of their mind,

aching to fill it with something again.

on the internet everything moves faster

You can just click ahead in the video. Swipe to the next person mid-sentence, already talking. Open it up and they're already talking. No greetings. They rarely even say their names anymore. You skip the intro, skip the ads, skip the silence. You can listen to WhatsApp messages, podcasts, and audiobooks at 2× speed. Scroll past the parts that drag. Fast-forward through the boring bits. Everything is designed to get you to the point as quickly as possible.

I RECEIVE DEVOTION LIKE IT IS NORMAL.