SO what i’m saying is that
my feet were propped up on a charcoal chair
mud on black converse, stains on bright future
i could see rainbows waving on my
computer screen—they blinded me
almond eyes hazed out because
damn this essay, i don’t give a crap about
20th century old men running the country

MY earbuds are off-white
i chew the cord for inspiration
my mouth is dry, and i wish
this pale lifeline was still stiff
to grind my teeth onto the newness
i crave something sweet and citrus sour



(“your freaking soul,” she cackles to herself.)

I’M stressing about the nearing graduation
we’re too close to the end, too close, too close
there’s music crooning in my ears
i imagine pretty girls batting their lashes to the beat
beating sun, sound waves passing by in shimmers
this essay’s still not done, and the one from
gray january is utter half-decayed trash

WE’RE craving something sweet and citrus sour
make it explody gold dying in a verdant green



(and she’s thinking, “honey. lemon. lo-fi. beat.”)