A poet eats poetically. She eats pages of poems. She chews pages of poems. She burps poetically. Before she becomes a hardcore poet, she must purge her wastes and forget everything but poetry. Her body is scarred with words and signs and texts. She cannot buy poems in a convenience store so she cooks poems and have them for dinner. Sometimes, she eats them at breakfast. She is a hungry, fat poet. And poetry is poisoning her until she romantically vomits poems on the dining table.
I’m a wannabe blogger who loves the 90s and Dr. Martens, an annoying mother and a jealous fan of A.M. Homes.
This blog is a reflection of my struggles to stay sober, creative and relevant for the past eight years. I deal with my very minor (perhaps imaginary) social anxieties through blogging about beauty products that I bought compulsively and conquering awkward feelings whenever I face the camera to awkwardly share my fashion outfits.
It’s orgasmic to finally let go of my thoughts and live different lives. Adios. May you find solace in other realms of the universe.