MOTHBITE

somewhere between prophecy and curse 28 years / italy

[mothbiteclub]

I wrote a poem about AI

our modern sin, our whispering snake

a small bite of the apple for the promise

of ease, of knowledge without pain

the road to glory no longer than the

distance of your keyboard

we all bite down eagerly, only to find

the fruit is hollow, insides reflecting

the face of a people that would give up

the last of their freedoms

to use their mind, to make something beautiful

don’t you want to make

something beautiful?

[mothbiteclub]

WORDS FROM THE MUSE

he wrote his grief like it was scripture, pressed his pain into melody and wrote redemption from the bones of my silence.

the world sang along to his suffering of where he broke my heart his hurt declared holy—the muse a mere afterthought

they called him brave and real and true as if truth weren’t a sacred altar he already laid my body across, bleeding me slowly in the name of art.

no one wondered if the muse was breathing, or if the metaphor had a pulse. there was only the echo of his voice explaining me to the world.

but i remember the night he looked at me like a song he could not finish the way he called it love while packing a suitcase full of guilt he swore he couldn’t carry.

he needed the heartbreak to write. and now i live in the ink on his hands, a ghost haunting the chorus, a scar he holds up as if regret is a form of affection

but this time, the silence is mine.

and it does not sound like forgiveness. it sounds like a song he will never be able to sing.

[mothbiteclub]

HEALING SEASON

i want the rock sun-warmed and smooth, to cradle my back like a mother that does not ask me to shrink

spine against stone in perfect harmony

i want the river to hum against my skin, to kiss the curve of me like it knows this body is holy

it is holy because it exists

i will lie there naked, unapologetically creature. not object, not performance, just skin and breath and summer.

thighs spread open no taste of shame on my tongue soft belly breathing, a rise and fall belonging to the wind

dragonflies tracing my skin like prayer, and i will laugh— because i know joy will return unasked.

my gaze lifted at the sky, bare-skinned and open-mouthed, and for once i won’t ask what i look like from above.

a different existence, not as something to be consumed but as something already belonging— a small, perfect animal belly to the earth

a part of the dance a creature among creatures. a pulse in the chorus.

and the world will not look away.

[mothbiteclub]

19/03

Strange feeling on the plane today as the flat and organized countryside of my homeland comes into view. Instead of the slight relief at seeing familiar soil, I feel distance. I compare this place to the messiness of Italy, with its abandoned buildings and broken fences, its graffiti and too-small roads. Suddenly, the mess seems more familiar to me than the ground below me. Italy will never feel like home, I cried to my boyfriend only two months ago. Now I wonder what does.

[mothbiteclub]

i want a little garden of my own so bad it physically hurts. why has become access to green spaces such an unreachable privilege?? I just want to grow some flowers please

[valerieandherweekofwonderz]

Morgiana (1972) dir. by Juraj Herz.

[mothbiteclub]

i think lying naked on a warm rock by the river on a hot summer day while marvelling at the divinity of my natural body and feeling playful instead of blocked in my sexuality and seeing i am part of nature's beautiful dance would heal me right now

[mothbiteclub]

hey chatgpt how to find salvation on a rotten planet

[tiredsoundsofagnes]

i would make such a beautiful dead bird on the sidewalk

[mothbiteclub]

i need to get closer to some sort of insanity / salvation / completely separation from everything that i think i am to be able to create without limitations