#Minute Poem

[within-the-last-minute]

stay safe because i like being alive at the same time as you.

[matildazq]

Write the Year 2024—Week 49: Late-Night Talkshit

This is a very dumb Minute Poem about insomnia. Not even my insomnia, but a circle-of-hell text chain with my siblings about my mother’s insomnia. Basically, I am now trapped 24/7 in one of the shitty supposed-to-have-been-a-solution-but-deeply-fucked-me-up-way-worse-than-I-was-before-I-ever-sought-a-solution-and-I-will-never-even-get-back-to-before-I-got-fucked-up-by-it sessions. So.…

[improvapocalyps]

You have 90 minutes to complete. (original poem: r.a.)

In participation of the MCYT Recursive Exchange 2024 hosted by @mcytrecursive!

Inspired by know that all my love will be your breath (i will save you when your lights go out)

[text under cut]

1. Have you ever been in love? (Please circle your answer.) a. It's me and him b. Our hearts beat in sync c. Our lives intertwined

2. Do you understand what you’ve done? (Please circle your answer.) a. I couldn't do anything b. I lost my balance c. I doomed us both

3. It's been god knows how long since you felt phantom hands on your neck and there is no one in sight. If you were soul-bound to him and both of you died at the same time then why are you still waiting in the void? Please answer clearly, in full sentences. (Not a correct answer：I just wanted to see him one more time).

4. Define two (2)： Fate | The feeling of his forehead against yours Curse | The moment you realise he isn't linked to you anymore

5. True or False： i. It was your fault. ii. You wish you had met him under different circumstances. iii. You can’t regret a single moment that you had him. iv. You would do it all over again if you could. v. It ended long before either of you said anything.

thumbnails:

sketch cover thing for imgur link:

[gothhabiba]

Colonizers write about flowers they keep their metaphors on ice lest they grow stale or they pickle them for posterity

if I pick flowers they are sliced up into hindba' bzeit or if I embroider quranful onto tea towels it is for Palestine if I pickle liffit or write or pluck or weave it is for Palestine and everything is wrapped up in plastic and everything is by proxy

I know I am an American because my mouth fills with blood when I speak

tell us where is our posterity are these children mine or yours or ours but anyway

fuck your Biden-Harris yard signs fuck your lawnmowers when they kill my chicory and fuck Poetry Magazine

after Noor Hindi, "Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People Are Dying," Poetry, December 2020

5-minute poem with prompt word "flower" and the suggestion of taking inspiration from this Noor Hindi poem: prompt from @unlivedtenderness give me a prompt of your own with a $5 USD donation to Mohammed & Samar's campaign. Venmo: gothhabiba | Paypal: paypal.me/Najia | Cashapp: $NajiaK (with note "🍓" or "strawberry")

[kafk-a]

[sualne]

right under my eye

[charbies]

Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice:

Was ever grief like mine?

[theftshrubbery]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DREAM! 💚⭐️

the minecraft end poem read by us to you :)

[padawansuggest]

Mace: *dragging Kenobi and Vos out of the slam poetry night by their tunic collars and stops Tholme and Jinn from leaving them behind* No, you heard our rules after last week’s incident, they’ve been banned!

Qui-Gon: *ready to argue* What in the galaxy could my sweet baby padawan have done to get kicked out?

Tholme: I must admit, despite Jinn’s willful ignorance, I understand that mine could get banned, but he never mentioned it so I would like to know what he did.

Mace: Obi-Wan wrote a poem about a galaxy wide war that gave seventeen people True Visions and I had a shatterpoint migraine till last night. So for him it’s either me or him in that room and I’m the host so it’s me.

Qui-Gon: *taking a sheepish Obi-Wan into his arms for a pity cuddle cause that poem had led to like four straight days of council sessions and an enslaved Dathomiri child being found in a senator’s house on Naboo* To be fair. Obi-Wan had some good points.

Tholme: I’m scared to ask. What did mine do?

Mace: He didn’t write a poem so he went up to the mic and started licking it. It was the most disgusting noise I ever heard. If he gets near a mic I might have to drop kick him. Safer for him out here.

Tholme: *deep sigh of sadness* Yeah that sounds like something he’d do.

[inkskinned]

"it's so embarrassing you like that popular thing" "oh ew that geeky/strange thing is so cringe lol" "oh it's kind of weird you get excited about that harmless shit"

dude i love how ironic and jaded you are and that's so cool and sexy of you. and i am so so glad to tell you - you won!! we all had a meeting and we decided that you won, and we are writing your name on the inside of a burger king crown. the marker smeared, sorry, but we knew any form of real effort is ugly to you. but anyway. congrats! you are officially the coolest, most ironic, most jaded person in-the-world-right-now. we would throw you a party but you would think it was totally boring - and besides, we're weird so we wouldn't have been coming. we would have brought our love of beetles and of baking and of little canapes. we would have brought our artsy videogames and pages of writing. we would have written a poem with you, our hands covered in ink, and spread out a canvas to dance on, the night so lurid and pink.

but do not worry. we will not throw the party. we will just get you a ringlight and that crown i mentioned. it is a nice crown, except for where one of us dropped it.

the vote was a really hard one because we had so many cool ironic people to pick off the shelves. all of you have hands that rot fruit, how strange is that - you can't look at something without destroying it for other people. you like it when you can squeeze a person into a pinpoint - all us small ones scampering our little feet around our ugly joys. the vote was also a hard one because we kept our voices down because you don't like it when we talk too loud. you were on your phone at the time, talking to people other than us. you are a ghoul of every moment - half in, half out, you resent us for being here without shame or embarrassment.

so good news! we have invented an island for people like you. you get to go there and speak into the air things like if you still like watching harmless twitch streamers in 2023 you're fucking boring. you will say things like liveplay podcasts are fucking ugly and it's kind of awkward they try to make everything gay. on the island we made you, all of your words will have weight. they will form in the air like icicles, large white behemoth letters that will crumple in anvils around your feet. maybe we will send someone there once in a while to sweep, but honestly you might be there for a while, alone, waiting. we are busy being outside looking for mushrooms and flapping our hands and humming. we are busy kicking our little heels while we watch cringey tv. we are busy - sorry! as an apology, we have pre-filled the island with every bland, mediocre, unscented thing we could find. the island has the texture of american cheese. the island has an ocean that never gets angry. the island is perfect for you, trust me. you will be so happy there - as happy as you can be, ironically.

we want to say we are sorry for doing harmless things that you find annoying, childish, or unappealing - but we are not sorry. we thought we could help you, because we don't mind laughing at ourselves, but it turns out you are allergic to color and noise and atmosphere, so this is the best that we can do for now. we are all making a big shirt that says i voted in the ironic monarchy. we got you one that is just a fast fashion buttondown. i am so excited for you and this island and the big life you have won. you have a cool jaded grey life and miles of irony to roam. i love you! be well.

now leave us alone.

[clispectors]

love, jealousy & rivalry

a lover's discourse by roland barthes / challengers (luca guadagnino) / asking about you by eloise klein healy

[nighttime-thoughts]

I promise to remember all too well.

[affinitystoryblog]

Though we are not meant to be, We shall seal our bond with Fate's Kiss, And prosper in the depths of Hell

so that one ballet pose...

[isawken]

i need to have my background cut away from me with the lasso tool so i can finally wander free, unfettered, unburdened, as a .png

[nathanielorion]

Nathaniel Orion G. K. / March 2023

[solazu1]

A poem on realization of identity

by Keaton St. James

Boy wakes in a field of poppies with a newborn star wriggling like a live goldfish inside his mouth.

Boy breathes in the hot wet summer air, the cicada wingbeats, deersongs. He can feel the star push-

ing at his closed lips to escape. Boy exhales slow, looks up at the pink-stained clouds, then swallows.

(In nine months the Angel of Truth will bloom inside his stomach.)