internet poetry

I will love you until we turn to stardust,
And even then, I’m sure our orbits will cross
May the universe, the gods and the mortals judge in disgust
I can still feel your touch, fresh like that sea moss,
When the light still shone and the waves of the ocean
Planted summer kisses on your neck.
No, but darling you are more like a mountain,
Majestic, mysterious, but all I could see
You were drowning in oceans
And I couldn’t set you free.
My heart is still pounding, my eyes are ablaze
The love of our fire is coldly disgraced.
I hope you remember that cool summer air
When we sat by the sea moss, kissing with flair.
“Your generation would probably ‘livetweet’ the apocalypse” you say, and you laugh
You mean it as an insult, and I understand,
Or you don’t
because the word lies awkwardly on you tongue, stumbles as it leaves your lips, air quotes visible
You meant it as an insult, so you don’t understand, when I look into your eyes and say “Yes”
Because we would.
It would be our duty, as citizens on this earth
to document it’s end the best way we know
and if that means a second by second update
of the world going up in flames, or down in rain, or crushed under the feet of invading monsters
so be it.
It would mean a second by second update of
“I love you”
“I’m scared”
“Are you all right?”
“Stay close”
“Be brave”
It would mean a second by second update of the humanity’s connection with one another,
Proof of empathy, love, and friendship between people who may have never met in the flesh.
So don’t throw the word 'Livetweet’ at me like a dagger, meant to tear at my 'teenage superiority’
Because if the citizens of Pompeii, before they were consumed by fire,
had a chance to tell their friends and family throughout Rome
“I love you”
“I’m scared”
“Don’t forget me”
Don’t you think they’d have taken the chance?
—  Sometimes it hurts when people scorn internet cultre
all touch eradicates into pure code for me now

into a digital abyss we’re falling
lost amongst the white noise of our lives
i fuck with the periphery of my existence
moments of sobriety smashed to fuckin nothing
core lit up senses at the spontaneous
filter incoherence to plain fuckin sense
caught up like we’re existing between
tv snow screams give the top layer no question
blasted out perceptions

take a breath
let yourself digitize into the soil
data distortion against the morning dew
nylon rotting alongside the worms until
another sun takes its turn
overflooded paranoia needling under the

i hold my phone out to snapchat
a dead coyote corpse on its 8th day
feeding the cornfield on the town outskirts
caption reading: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN
sense of self stripping as i try to rip something
poetic out of from my own mind vomit

terrified daily of the daylight bleeding past
my blackout curtains i cower trying to
mind suffocate to shut out the shroud casting
a halo around our sun that’s flipping between
channels 3 and 17 turning it all to muted red
and black nonsense my eyes closed i cant stop
the visions - towering gears shifting along
unmovable levers not bare to the naked eye
as i realize im operating as a machine with no creator

psycho shutdown too much to bear and i open
my eyes to five hours past walking out to air now
glittering in binary rips that smile through the
cracks between the hydro bonds
i let the cogs punch my feet into the concrete
resting myself fetal against a wall as my vision
begins to focus robotically between the strings
of 1’s and 0’s drifting past autumn leaves

comfortably numb as i feel my body shiver and
bright nothingness begins to tear at the edges of
my vision - all clarity squeezed down to to an ethereal
tone blaring out like a radio between frequencies
a howl buried beneath the newly born realities

Forgive me father for I have sinned

Father the devil was the most beautiful angel and you made him my brother 

Forgive me father for I am weak

You placed him into my arms father and I jumped into the fire, and father I have never felt cleaner than when he kisses my lips 

Forgive me father for before I am your soldier I am his

I shall follow his commands before I follow yours and father in my heart there shall be no regret

Forgive me father for I only invoke your name when I am at the cathedral of his hips

I shall worship at his feet for he is my God

His flesh shall be my bread, his blood shall be my wine and I’ll ask no forgiveness father for between his legs my salvation I will find

Forgive me father for I will spill my sins at your feet while his taste is still on my lips and I know father when he beckons me back into his arms I will follow

Forgive me father for I have made you cry and I shall do it again if my punishment is his smile

Let me burn besides him in eternal damnation father, for my soul is his and I shall find no greater paradise than him

Forgive me father for I love him more than any man has a right to love his brother

And forgive me father but for as long as he is mine I do not truly seek your forgiveness

it’s 10 PM and i’m drowning.
drowning in my own thoughts
pictures places people phrases things whirling within me – and they sting my soul like sharp seawater sliding softly over an almost invisible cut on my leg, my arm, my heart

it’s 11 PM and i’m choking.
choking on the words i could’ve should’ve would’ve said didn’t say
they rise up like slimy bile in my mouth but never come at the right time the right place the right person. twenty two years of life stuck in my throat. twenty two years of death, and after a while it burns

it’s midnight and i’m hurting.
hurting you hurting them hurting me
inside and out upside and down. pain sears through my brain, your veins, his bones. no more, no more, no, more. i don’t want it to stop

it’s 1 AM and i’m praying.
praying for sweet salvation
on my knees in a chapel in my bedroom in my mind. whispering the Lord’s Prayer while i pull a two year old bottle of cheap vodka from the back of my closet. stringing pills together and they’re rosary beads and maybe they will save me if i shut my eyes and praypraypray

it’s 2 AM and i’m dying.
—  hey, sweetheart, do you have the time? [ 31st march 2017 ]
ID #49845

Name: Leonie
Age: 16
Country: Germany

I’m Leonie and I spend too much time on the internet.
I’m socially akward and bisexual. My hobbies are singing, playing the uke, reading and volunteer work. It would be nice to have someon to discuss politcs and other controversial topics. I’d like to have a pen pal who is interested in the same things as me (not necessarily all of them though).
- memes
- Poetry and classic literature
- Any kind of music
- greek mythology and philosophy
- feminism and the LGBT community
- Doctor Who, Sherlock, Hamilton

I’m fluent in English and German (obviously lmao). It would be nice to have a friend in another country so we can also talk about our cultures. Snail mail and email are both ok.

Preferences: 15-18
Any gender and sexuality
Pls be open minded

they say grief is a well.
deep with creeping water that
seeps first into your socks. it climbs
like ivy, making an abandoned
building out of your bones.

i can see it. the well, i mean,
the grief and the water and the
creeping. i can see it.


i think grief is more like a storm.
clouds that hug the horizon, caress
the sky with fingers that leave bruises
the colour of the skin under your eyes
when you haven’t slept for a week.

lightning bolts that illuminate
the shapes in the dark for just long enough
that you get to see remnants of a normal life,
picnic blankets not abandoned to rain,
beaches covered with sand and not hail,
but the light never lasts.

and thunder. thunder that drowns out
the sound of laughter. thunder that only knows
how to emphasise the gaps of quiet
in between each earth shaking sigh.

they say that grief is a well,
it collects in your chest and fills and spills over
as the walls wage war with the water. i can see it. i can.
but my grief is more like a storm where lightning likes
to strike the same place a thousand times each day.

l.s. | ON GRIEF © 2016

When we think about meeting people who will have the kind of importance in our lives, it seems impossible that they could live miles and miles away. It seems impossible that we can bond with someone over FaceTime calls and texts. Adults ingrave into our minds that the people we meet on the internet have no purpose in our lives other than to destroy it.

I feel bad for the people who still try to tell us that internet friendships or relationships aren’t comparable to a real life one, because they believe the internet is only full of danger.

Those people don’t know what it feels like…
To finally meet your best friend.

—  poems-she-wrote