More anarchic poetry from yours truly with the good hair, truly.
I call it—————
Wham-Bam, no thank you, them–
Almond Milk is a Scam
Ever wake up and be like…
If breasts are milkshakes;
and I enjoy milkshakes
Why can’t I just enjoy my breasts?
Who even knows, ya’ll.
Who even knows.
Like, chocolate malts are why I identify as agnostic, not athiest.
They are proof that God might exist,
and that they might love us more than cats.
Cats can’t even taste sweet things, yo.
Cats somehow love milk,
but can’t taste sweet things.
Am I fucking cat, AGAIN?!
I’m not judgemental enough to be a cat.
Not yet at least.
Maybe if I stick….
don’t skip this.
Maybe if I stick a straw in my tit,
I can suck the milkshake out
Start this shit from scratch.
If I lost all my titties,
would I lose all my empathy?
What if I stopped empathizing
once I become what I want to be?
What I wish I was, what we’re all
“striving to be”?
What if I arrive, and I stop feeling
who I once was, and only know
who I was supposed to be?
Would I be more like you,
smug, clueless, cis-privileged pony.
fuck boy, clueless and dense and
obsessed with money.
I guess that’s the risk I’ll have to take
once I finish this milkshake
Ahhhh, fresh femininity