Honestly, though—a killer poem. It felt like a 30-second theatrical experience that makes you yearn for its feature film (or am I crazy again?). May the gods bless this person and give them a decent sucker.
In fact this is so good I might transition from Baudelaire to contemporary poetry if this divine madness continues to evolve these unhinged, most/moist-sincere ways. 🫶
The poem feels like someone speaking directly from the body, naming its asymmetries and uncertainties with a tenderness that aches. It carries the weight of living in a world where institutions debate your existence while your own skin quietly insists on being real. There is a raw longing in the wish for survival to be ordinary, for intimacy to feel like pleasure instead of defiance. The desire for a body that ages, softens, and changes without threat feels deeply human, almost universal. The poem holds both fear and hope in the same breath fear of being erased, hope of simply living long enough to grow old. Its honesty about wanting transition to lead into life, not danger, lands with quiet force. The lines pulse with a fierce love for the self in motion, a self still becoming. There is courage in naming the wish to experience one’s own body without political shadows. The poem becomes a plea for a world where embodiment is allowed to be ordinary. In the end, it feels like a heartbeat saying: let me live, let me change, let me stay.
Peak cinema 🙌.
Honestly, though—a killer poem. It felt like a 30-second theatrical experience that makes you yearn for its feature film (or am I crazy again?). May the gods bless this person and give them a decent sucker.
In fact this is so good I might transition from Baudelaire to contemporary poetry if this divine madness continues to evolve these unhinged, most/moist-sincere ways. 🫶
The poem feels like someone speaking directly from the body, naming its asymmetries and uncertainties with a tenderness that aches. It carries the weight of living in a world where institutions debate your existence while your own skin quietly insists on being real. There is a raw longing in the wish for survival to be ordinary, for intimacy to feel like pleasure instead of defiance. The desire for a body that ages, softens, and changes without threat feels deeply human, almost universal. The poem holds both fear and hope in the same breath fear of being erased, hope of simply living long enough to grow old. Its honesty about wanting transition to lead into life, not danger, lands with quiet force. The lines pulse with a fierce love for the self in motion, a self still becoming. There is courage in naming the wish to experience one’s own body without political shadows. The poem becomes a plea for a world where embodiment is allowed to be ordinary. In the end, it feels like a heartbeat saying: let me live, let me change, let me stay.
Oh, this poem that at first sounded like a joke poem from its title broke me.