Go ahead, call me crazy. Call me cowpunk.
That's quite an adventure you take us on. It feels so, edge-of-your-seat yet is a bit sad and underwhelming at the same time. I sure hope things work out for you.
Thank you Maren!
“We don’t get to choose where we’re from but we get to choose who we relate to,” so lovely, all of it but that was my favorite
This poem feels like someone speaking from the edge of their own life, half‑laughing, half‑bleeding, and still reaching for connection.
Its voice carries the ache of a girl who has been scraped raw by desire, illness, place, and memory yet refuses to stop wanting.
The landscapes feel like emotional weather: flat skies, gas‑station colors, highways that promise escape but deliver more longing.
There’s a heartbreaking honesty in how the speaker turns her eating disorder into a metaphor for desire wanting too much, wanting too hard.
The love she describes is messy, sticky, physical, clinging the way childhood sweetness clings to the roof of the mouth.
She wants to be loved without being perfect, without being “good,” without having to earn her place in someone’s arms.
The poem aches with the kind of longing that remembers every texture lip gloss, pillowcase curls, screen‑door confessions.
There’s a tenderness in the way she admits she’s still rehearsing grief, still bracing for loss even while reaching for love.
Her voice is both tough and breakable, stitched together with humor, grit, and a stubborn refusal to disappear.
In the end, the poem feels like a plea whispered into the night: let me be flawed, let me be wild, let me still be loved.
This was beautiful and surprising. Thank you.
The speaker in your poem is very relatable. Nice job.
That's quite an adventure you take us on. It feels so, edge-of-your-seat yet is a bit sad and underwhelming at the same time. I sure hope things work out for you.
Thank you Maren!
“We don’t get to choose where we’re from but we get to choose who we relate to,” so lovely, all of it but that was my favorite
This poem feels like someone speaking from the edge of their own life, half‑laughing, half‑bleeding, and still reaching for connection.
Its voice carries the ache of a girl who has been scraped raw by desire, illness, place, and memory yet refuses to stop wanting.
The landscapes feel like emotional weather: flat skies, gas‑station colors, highways that promise escape but deliver more longing.
There’s a heartbreaking honesty in how the speaker turns her eating disorder into a metaphor for desire wanting too much, wanting too hard.
The love she describes is messy, sticky, physical, clinging the way childhood sweetness clings to the roof of the mouth.
She wants to be loved without being perfect, without being “good,” without having to earn her place in someone’s arms.
The poem aches with the kind of longing that remembers every texture lip gloss, pillowcase curls, screen‑door confessions.
There’s a tenderness in the way she admits she’s still rehearsing grief, still bracing for loss even while reaching for love.
Her voice is both tough and breakable, stitched together with humor, grit, and a stubborn refusal to disappear.
In the end, the poem feels like a plea whispered into the night: let me be flawed, let me be wild, let me still be loved.
This was beautiful and surprising. Thank you.
The speaker in your poem is very relatable. Nice job.