strawberrywoman

they/them, 24. This is a place for only myself and my bad poetry. Please don’t follow if you’re a minor, as I reblog 18+ content!

[strawberrywoman]

[despazito]

Sooner or later leftists will have to deal with the issue that capitalism has made many people used to wanton excess and sooner or later we'll have to legit tell everyone we can't have plastic treats and luxury produce or cruises instantly available year round and it's gonna make so many people mad and call you a big meanie worse than stalin over it. It will not be popular at all but someone's gotta hold a firm no or the planet will never stop collapsing. We can't save the planet by living exactly how we do now just with a communist banner over it we have to take a loss sorry, shein product cycles shouldn't have been normalized to begin with.

[despazito]

The banana discourse really separated the wheat from the chaff of which "lefties" actually want a global workers revolution and which ones just want more stuff to be free

[shrimpin-aint-easy]

Can you please just have an ounce of shrimpathy?

[shrimpin-aint-easy]

Can you please just have an ounce of shrimpathy?

[strawberrywoman]

[thefloralmenace]

The answer to the loneliness epidemic is not romantic love. I've said this before in a more complex post, but the answer to loneliness is:

Romantic love IF you want it (asexuals and aromatics are valid) IN ADDITION TO:

- Volunteering in your community and/or participating civically at the local level (with community non-profits, on local government committees, etc.)

- Joining clubs/intramural sports (think local writer's groups, a softball league, a bowling club, anything you can find locally through MeetUp)

- Friends you see in-person (remember to make the effort to get lunch or hang with people available you locally!)

- Friends you talk to digitally (especially if you've just moved somewhere new and don't have a lot of in-person friends).

- Family (unless those are unhealthy relationships - cutting off abusers is always valid.)

- Church (if that suits you! If you're not religious but miss a church vibe, look up into Unitarian Universalism.)

- And hot take: Knowing your coworkers personally even if you don't socialize outside of work. Ex: Do I hang with my boss outside work? No. But do I know that man loves folk music and forward him local folk music events? Yes I do. I acknowledge this is not possible/advisable in every work environment, but work sucks if you're all just cogs in the machine.

You're not supposed to be wholly socially fulfilled by your partner. You're not supposed to sink your entire emotional investment into your partner. A lot of relationships break or limp along under the stress of two people trying to fill the void of a dozen people each for each other.

[two-bees-poetry]

my father cuts my hair and i hope we look the same

[strawberrywoman]

So beautiful I wish I had a better word than beautiful to describe the beauty

[madamserpentessa]

“The fruit was never an apple”

Max Svabinsky, (1873-1962)

“In Paradise” circa 1918

[alienvampire-deactivated2020090]

[strawberrywoman]

this sickness is undoing me I cannot exist with you I cannot exist without you my matter keeps dispersing and trying to reform around you / interrupting and intruding and inviting and inciting and I cannot form I cannot form I cannot form /

the atoms vibrate / I am always in two places at once / I will lose this present to the past / I will remember and regret or I will not remember and regret / no matter / but yours and mine / ours / unstable / collapsing

[strawberrywoman]

Prom Night by Lisa Gray, 2004

Found in University of Alaska Fairbanks’ Museum of the North

[tomhoppusdelonge]

“what radicalised you?” basic empathy

[strawberrywoman]

Reading my friends’ poems like damn bro I didn’t know you had this primordial darkness in you. Nah it’s fine it just caught me off guard is all. Kiss me

[strawberrywoman]

When you kill an animal you realize how much of a body is just rocks and water.

How much of the tissue can feel like hard plastic. How everything we have made can come back to this somehow. Come back to death and bodies.

I breathed into the windpipe of a goat once. I breathed air into its lungs after watching it die;

after skinning it. Who took the last breath? I can hear it rattling and whistling, vibrating a dead chord.

You don’t know an animal’s sound until you’ve heard that. You don’t know its voice until you’ve heard it slaughtered.

I was meant to catch the blood in a teapot, I don’t remember if I did. Catastrophic blood loss and the brain dies, but he is still screaming and bleeding and screaming.

No one can tell you when a soul leaves. No one can tell you when it stops feeling or how long is the wait. The nerves twitch for minutes, hours after. The legs kick but the eyes are empty. What is death?

I took a bite out of his liver. Is warm alive? I chewed and swallowed. Sulfur.

[strawberrywoman]

My body aches from so many beds. The sky here doesn’t get dark at night. Perhaps my own hand on my stomach can feel just as warm as anybody else’s. Just as not alone.

I’m beginning to understand that I’m a person, that I am neutral. I think you probably roll your eyes at my heart-achey poems and quotes about love from books I haven’t read. I think I’m supposed to love myself the way I want other people to love me, and I don’t think I can do it. My love is a pathology and I have no patience. My brain is designed to destroy itself.

Love and fear of loss are entangled in my body: I started grieving the moment I loved you. I don’t want to talk anymore, never again. I only want to look or touch or feel. I only want to love your wolf and you to love mine. If I can just have this then I will just have this, because it is better than not having it and I cannot not love you. My love is a pathology and I have no patience; perhaps you have too much of it.

I’m twenty two and I’m learning how to lie. To myself. To others. It makes being alive more bearable.

[strawberrywoman]

Loving for me hurts. In fact I’m not even sure you could call it love, the thing that I do. Perhaps part of the sickness is what I mistake love to be.

It makes me angry, it makes me want to kill someone. Maybe me. Maybe you.

Loving feels like grieving.

It happens with people, it happens with books, it happens with songs and movie characters and dreams I had that I can’t stop forgetting no matter how hard I try. The minute I love something I’ve already lost it, and it is a tragedy and there is nothing I could remotely do.

Passion sets my brain on fire. It feels grating, it feels violent. It feels white-hot good like an orgasm. I want to make, make, make and my wanting is a murder. I will make and I will destroy and it will be me or it will be you or it will be the world.

God save us but he won’t, he left us here and he’s not coming back. God save the world but he won’t come back for that either.

[strawberrywoman]

I had to argue once in a class whether humans are animals or something else. At the time I was certain we’re animals. But now I’m in Seattle and I’m getting on a train and I’m thinking about technology. I’m thinking about how far removed we are from the land. And I feel like an animal, and I think lots of us still are, but I also think lots of us aren’t anymore. I think about Orange County, Commercial California, the people there. Their priorities. Their consumption. My consumption. I don’t think those people are animals anymore and I don’t think they have any interest in being animals. Perhaps we get to decide whether to keep being animals. It seems more and more humans are giving up animal. I don’t want to give up animal, I want to be more animal.