Poetry in my Notes App

You read it here first.

Recently, I have been writing, as my professor used to say, “as the train comes flying through the tunnel.” In other words, I’ve been living in the moment and documenting it with my favorite form of poetry, typed as fast as my extra-long manicure will let me.

Here are a few— three, to be exact, that my friend Jackie helped me pick out of the enormous pile of screenshots I’ve sent her recently. I hope you love them. And if you do, I hope you’ll share this publication with others who might like them!

And comment below if you’d enjoy a weekly/monthly poetry dump or if you’d rather me stick to more occasional posts.

49ers & Me

Is it

Romantic

Or

Completely telling/

Of my state of mind?

That I think that you were/

An average old, run-of-the-mill/

Backyard garden-grade stone/

until I picked you out/

And put you into my rock tumbler?

You polished up/

From the friction between us and/

My youthful gaze/

Only made you shine brighter..

Until I learned that Fool’s Gold

Had tricked far smarter/

Archaeologists than myself/

A couple of centuries ago.

I Hate Him Lol

“OMG,” I type/

in a text to a friend-

(Everyone loves a little anticipation)-

“You’ll never guess who just texted me”/

As if she hasn’t spent the better part of/

An entire year of her life/

Listening to me bitch/

And bemoan your existence,

As if she hasn’t put in the overtime hours/

of emotional labor/

Rebuilding me like-

A shattered Lego set/ a wave-washed sandcastle/a deflated Build-A-Bear.

Like she hasn’t spent 298 days sending me/

“Love you,” texts/

That. unlike yours/

I know are true.

Anyway/

Three dots pop up/

And then disappear/

And then she sends a skull emoji/

And then a text that/

Really should be put on a canvas/

Hung in the Louvre/

Or at least painted into a mural/

In the gentrification process downtown/

Where influencers can take selfies with it.

Because, here’s the thing/

It may be the most relatable phrase/

Of our time.

She said,

“I hate him lol”

And the congregation of collective Best Friends/

All over the world/

Replied,

“Amen.”

The Price of Eggs

All anyone wants to talk about nowadays/

Is grocery prices/

And gas tanks.

And how dare he?

(President Biden)

Show his face in public?

In this economy?

And while we’re at it,

I would like to ring a 5-alarm fire/

Or at least have a passive-aggressive/

conversation/

With Whomever Is In Charge/

Of the price of eggs.

I find it absolutely bananas/

That it would cost me $12,000/

To freeze mine.

(Plus an additional $99 a month to store them; is this an all-inclusive egg resort?)

So I guess.

the best plan/

Is to begin with/

A concept of a plan?

Or perhaps I could live/

without a kidney now,

(very high black market price!)

If it meant having kids/

*motions with hands into the abyss*

Someday.

As my OB/GYN loves to remind me/

I am no spring chicken.

But my God/

Can we talk a little louder about/

The price of gasoline?

Anywho, there they are— three very raw and very recent and very unedited poems for you to feast upon. LMK below what you think please!

xx, AB