I really have nothing to say, I’m just sleepy and feeling unuseful. This won’t be my best work. I’m just typing.

I got a rejection letter today, I started that another day. I can’t really tell what rhymes and it seems I’m high all the time. I’m just typing.

I listen to a lot of YouTube healers, carry it around my neck, I do, I listen on my lunch break. I can’t stop me express myself, but I got a letter in the mail.

Well actually I got an email.

Something about me isn’t quite right for them. They haven’t seen me, I have a tattoo of a pen. I don’t look quite right to anybody, about my beauty is on the fence and who wants to read me my voice is weird and my background is a history, there’s no fact here, hence nothing they’d like to try to pronounce dead-upon-scene, I haven’t the slack for academia, I’m writing at my own creed.

I’m just typing. I’m just typing. I’m just trying out a voice, I can’t spend my life writing seven of the same sentences over clouds over clouds over clouds again. The time is now, bitches, get up out of bed and be witches, bitches, it’s all gone to our heads, can’t you hear the horn now? A-woooooga, that’s a brass section, mama, wake up your daughter’s on reefer again.

I’m just typing. For the love of my life I could do better. I’m just typing. For the love of starvation I could eat nothing. I’m just typing. I could start a revolution right here in my bed. If only I could get all the bedsheets out of my head. What will they think that means?

You’ll go crazy. Don’t think about it. Get up and go somewhere else. You freak. Get up the nerve, sicko, get up the nerve. You haven’t seen me going over the Manitoba falls, sir, no sir you don’t.

Won’t is such a…word…you know?

God you have to be as strange as you can be to yourself between the gaps of your thoughts so you can take a pair of pliers to your wires and know it’s you who lightsed-out and not some copy of yourself on a seldom-heard-of freak of nature’s metacognition platform on x’s dime, no no no. I have too much to say.

You have no idea what you started until you’re dead. I’m just typing. How to convey how mad I am? I am irate, furious, shrieking even, but you’d rather I tear a hole in my body than open the unobstructed in your own and just listen for one fucking second.

I’m just typing.