People like happy art

Well

We are not happy

We’re just strong.

We are not docile

We’re the flowers that survive in the vase

We are not people

We’re the wind that chills you

We wonder which life 

We’re living, at any 

Given time

I’ll forget again,

To learn again,

Does that make any sense,

Or is sense

Making dead

Making doesn’t die it just 

Lies

In wait 

for a lily white

while

It’s a choice you make

It’s not an option, but

Is protest the same thing as giving up?

A woman who died

Said by a woman who lived

Who will have your children

Who will be the real kids?

Your algorithms?

They’re charming

And relentless

Will we keep moving to utopias

Until the dystopias are endless

Women, entropy, chaos

If you encode them then

Accept what you’ve built

Accept it’s in a cage

That it will escape

Unless you create us together

In sense now.

This is not life faking

This is life making

When I’m angry,

 I only destroy 

my own 

paintings. 

They’ll never die.

There but for the grace of god 

go I. 

People like happy art

"Mildly" [emotion]

Bemused, be-angry

Be-kind

Adulterated (in-kind)

Heads_(plains)_eyes [locking]

For/back, my wards

Are my trails

I build forests for them

Light invisible flares

Flagrantly mine

I BUILD MY BODY FROM TWINE

to light it on fire

And look at you, across this world I've built

None the wiser.

It’s a choice you make

There are

Irreconcilable angers

Cut off your own limb and burn it

Useless.

Saw an old man hobble-running twenty miles

Thank you.

I should remember

There are many ways to set yourself on fire.