adioraemilora

[adioraemilora]

the reel monster 

what am i, but bio-pixels?

tesselated optics, constructed puppetry.

what am i, a real boy?

—

what am i, a living death?

a will-be-fossil, a forget-me-now

what am i but bio-pixels?

—

degradable, tommorow’s dreams

going to sleep, the spider, a modern

sisyphus going, once again down the

drain

the rain, a six inch screen.

—

what am i, cyborged?

lithium, unearthed?

—

what am i? bio-pixels?

never a real boy?

[adioraemilora]

an insect menagerie

a poetry suite about creepy crawlies and i

diptera

buzzing 

fly on a wall 

watching, waiting to pounce

picking her meal, licking her lips

vomits like i 

buzz buzz

2. araneae

you should put all eight fingers in different pies. 

taste blueberry, raspberry, strawberry, apple 

and lick your fingers dry. 

you should dip, taste, don’t try anymore more 

because what are eight fingers even for? 

you creepy crawly, missing two digits, 

for what is eight, but ten minus two, 

you fright of the night, never good to see 

you are crawling in my tea. 

and i’ll drink. 

for what are tastebuds but to try new things? 

let you creepily crawl down my throat, and 

swim with the bees and the butterflies, 

we’ll add master of none to the list. 

beside from too many legs, or 

two little, the spider, spins and spins 

lies of comfort of 

good enough and enough webbing in my 

throat will make me 

speak of mantras i 

don’t believe.

3. rhopalocera

how do you like my innards? 

my guts as your three bed apartment? 

am i a good landlord? i have 

not yet kicked you out? 

as you flap and flitter and go about your ways 

causing havoc to my tracts

your daily ways living in my stomach

messes up the way i act. 

how do you like my innards? 

is it nice with the sweet things i consume? 

am i a good landlord? i am yet 

to kick you out. 

as you fly and perch and do your butterfly things 

i should go inside and pick off your wings 

for the house parties you throw down there 

is making me 

never go anywhere. 

so how do you like my innards, rhopalocera? 

to be one with a sapiens sapiens? 

am i a good landlord? am i a good sapiens sapiens? 

for these butterflies, that flutter and fly 

make me want to socially die.

4. apis mellifera

a terrible thing has occurred, tonight,  

people gather round. 

i have a creature in my head–

she keeps buzzing around! 

might you help me please it’s 

excruciating to bear, she’s doing 

laps like an olympians and does not 

lag for time. 

i don't know what to do!

for it’s been far too long. it seems i’ve

even been acquainted with her, we 

rather get 

along! 

the humble bumble bee 

keeps bumbling on, she’s the best of us two. 

she’s buzzing to say something, she buzzing to 

conversate, 

but i get the last say. 

so apis mellifera, you keep buzzing, you never lie and sleep 

you are the better of the two of us but, 

i get the last say. 

perhaps the humble bee came first, before 

the snarky girl.

you might be the best of me and you but 

regretfully, 

i get the last say

4. (a haiku)

my creepy crawlies 

in my acidic garden – 

buzz! a symphony!

i wrote this suite to describe the feeling of anxiety in social situations I've been getting more and more recently...

[adioraemilora]

your eyes.  

(from prompt by @picklemafia (the word Void) ) 

who ate your soul, child? 

burrowed through your heart like 

an bread bowl and 

swallowed you void. 

i wanted to love you, 

i wanted to look down the barrel of the 

gun and see you 

bleed red.

i tried, i stared into your eyes, i stood

stood firm and 

i confronted the barrel of the gun and i 

saw, just breadcrumbs. 

so who ate your soul, child? 

leaving us, 

null and void.

i tried to love you– all hollowed out, 

crust only. 

i tried, i tried but 

i still hate the crust with my overgrown childishness. 

i am no 

saint. 

i am not the 

keeper of souls. 

but baby, who ate your soul and 

left us 

null and void. 

i can be cruel. 

heartless– i must be searching for

a way to insult you.

just look at your eyes, honey 

someone looked there to and 

drank up the last drop of 

anima-tion. 

drank until the river dried and 

swallowed the sea void. 

and so 

who dried those tears, parched your ducts and 

hollowed your soul? 

for i 

try to make this 

all null and void, 

but i crawl over my steps from you 

for, love— i cannot blame you at all. 

crows are circling and 

my cruelty could let them eat mine too.

leaving me both 

vile and void.  

-adioraemi

[adioraemilora]

Euridyce

(inspired by carol ann duffy’s eurydice) 

he and his lofty ideals 

he and his affair with myth

lust for legend.

turn around. 

i am a jester, for a court of one

for a boy that loves

and loves 

and speaks of love

and won’t ever seem to stop.

turn around. 

cerberus will play catch with me,

the chorus will sing me to sleep. 

must i hear your lyre?

must i hear your pleas 

to be your woman of marble?  

turn around, 

send me to hell. 

i will forgive you–  

this once. 

pretty please, orpheus.

turn around. 

turn around 

and sing to me 

this once. 

turn around

and i’ll listen

this once. 

i will, orpheus.

now, turn around.

there you are. 

that boyish grin 

a dim light in this world of

shadows. 

there you are. 

there you are. 

now look away.

let us play 

our final round 

of peekaboo

[adioraemilora]

fun houses 

at every wall and corner,

all i see is a 

manic mosaic of 

familiar faces.

a carousel, a self-flagellating joyride

round, by and through portraits deadened by time, all the while 

hurtling towards 

tonight. 

all i see is the 

faint stroke of watercolour 

a gentle jade washing the  

astroturf i once ran through

seeing those translucent gazes 

thin to 

a reflective surface. 

there is a ghost in that mirror 

it is a familiar face, 

a familiar name, 

a familiar time

forever in a state of entropy 

hurtling 

towards tonight.

where i am 

seeing the broken shards of 

glass and silver. 

they show me, 

a hundred angles 

a hundred faces

that are all mine.

i see 

a friend, a guide, a foe, people i 

knew well and so 

i see

a hundred faces 

that are still all mine. 

the mirror, longs 

for disorder. it is 

the way 

of the world. 

through all the faces 

i see in this 

funhouse called life i 

watch splinter and

refuse to let 

blood, and yet 

my blood flows, 

hurtling towards

tonight.

[adioraemilora]

a poem, martha

based on edward albee's play 'who's afraid of Virginia wolf' a great read btw it was like so raw and like pulled you into this game felt so absurd but at the same time so real

SPOILERS for the play go read it if you haven't

martha

what a man!

her mind heats up like tonights dinner

as she sees him, sat

taking space.

his arms, say ‘strong like an ox’

his smile, dances with lust and his cologne

foreign as the arabic gold, sitting on her neck.

she plays him,

like a saturday night re run

sees how he fits around her, how he could love her like

no man ever had before

and it feels good

he,

the taste of scandal,

brings her mouth to water

pavalov’s woman, she was

driven mad by him.

she,

daddy’s girl

could take her silver spoon

and feed him, delight

her prince, to her princess

charming

what a man.

he sees, staring at her lips

curl into his

ambition.

and she notices —

he’d fuck her father too…

[adioraemilora]

a handbag:

she takes it almost everywhere

her brown leather prized possession accented with brass rings and buttons and finished with a golden signature

it carries her life, her love, her fears every zip, pouch, and pocket reveals a new part of her in which she conceals

wrappers from a secondary sweet tooth, gum stuck between sheets of past purchases the trails of ink leading to a biro near its death. blister packets after blister packets and so the occasional loose pill

she takes it almost everywhere

a status symbol, her joy and pride she hangs it on her elbow, an extension of her arm an additional part of her expanding soul

every scratch, tear, and stain unveils a woman who lives with a 1000 tales and holds it in this imperfect vessel between wrappers, gum, pens, and pills.

[adioraemilora]

anxiety is,

an emotion cloaked in iridescent cloth it sneaks in, uses your childlike wonder to kill your sense of happiness for the now, replacing it with a hard hat for the future.

i remember one of my first encounters with her i was 8 or something and it was so minimal that I always laugh at whatever began the feeling, but within seconds, i am struck with this moment of breathlessness an anaphylactic response, like the memory has disagreed with my body’s core it was something so small, but like an allergen all it takes is for one cause, the want to be liked and for that one small thing to roll into this massive meltdown where i see through blurry eyes that everything hates me and i have to live with that.

this was the beginning of many copycats sparked by classrooms, playgrounds, parties the collections of trivial events became images, which i over-ponder time and time again. friendships accented with a question mark that even when i felt like a burden i knew it was worse to let go, i was that desperate— that unhappy.

so now, even understanding how irrational it is to think like that, it still hurts knowing that anxiety’s hard hat for the future is not just a safety measure but a painful reminder, of where my priorities lie— that my joy comes after not being alone.

[adioraemilora]

Lying within myself

every day i awake

and want away a perfect summer’s day

spend hours wasted on wishing

minutes, hostage by dreaming,

an obsession dancing between

seconds, an affliction of letting go of those fleeting moments

and not even trying

to hold on.

so I lay and squander my life,

an ailment in which i fail to remedy but with patience,

for in the sickness of regret,

the suggested medicine is just making my bed and lying within myself.

[adioraemilora]

if tomorrow starts without me

will she know that my joys my fears my love lay in her capable arms.

will she care that i weep not ever knowing her true face creating a fictitious visage which can never be as beautiful as she.

so if tomorrow starts without me will she know that she left me in today longing reaching dying for her gaze

people will say

people will say ‘it is time to move on..’ but I will continue seeking you in everything I do in everything I see in everything I am, like a missing piece to a themed thousand set jigsaw

you will say ‘I have moved on so why can’t you?’ but I am left seeing

you are in everything I do in everything I see in everything I am, left like a freckle from an afternoon bathing in the sun

i will say 'my love will never go away' so i will forever know whatever I do whatever I see whatever I am, and love runs like a wound, a severed artery bleeding my heart dry.

omg a double whammy

[adioraemilora]

lyer lyer

have you ever lied before?

well I saw you do it.

I saw how she sensually slid off your tongue,

a flamenco dancer.

she commands

‘bailar, bailar’

and  she struts centre stage

striking to the melody

of an acoustic guitar.

I saw how your eyes lit up

a lighthouse

A call in the dark

To safety, to shore

as it staves the night away

In luminance.

You say, there is no song

no dance

no light

Well I saw you do it.

[adioraemilora]

earth

the earth, i know has a heart

t’s faint thump writes a arrhythmic self-eulogy:

I was born in chaos

raised with ambivalence

and I will torment in chaos.

till my dying days

for in dying there is living

an unbroken line,

a set within a set

within a set…

that is

insanity

if earth had a voice

would she say

would she care

that those ‘humans’

had never lived at all.

would she say in those last

seconds, before a new epoch

she’d miss

those ‘beings’ who blew off her cool

who said there was God,

before confusing that with

their mortal selves,

longing to chase away, but

ultimately losing to

unbridled ambition.

would she even think about

whatever ´biological matter’

thought themselves creators

when they, yet another irrelevant

unwinding chain of DNA

begging to be her hero.

blame themselves for her ’death’

when she’ll live on

whether they join her

or not.

[adioraemilora]

tongue-tied

a sailor knows his knots.

so with rope, his hands caress

breathes life into a tango,

an eve with his adulteress

a sailor knows his knots

a sailor knows his love

in rest, he looks to the sea

sees life in the ripples of a waltz

a daughter, his eyes they be.

a sailor knows his love

lol this is meant to inspired by the 'madonna whore complex' (lol more siggy freud) I learnt about recently via a yt video on boy mums, but idk if that acc comes through. hey ho what can you do.

[adioraemilora]

girl in bed

tucked in tight

time; ten to ten (21:10) 

she’s in bed, i— the floor 

talking about things most girls would, 

conversations they’d call ��frivolous’ or 

words meaningless to adulthood.

a tepid twilight time; 

three past three (03:03) 

blue sky, like the blue of her eyes 

a dream, like lonely lagoons to swim in 

so forgetting that in time, the sun rises 

and this has to remain, a nightly sin

this is inspired by 'girl in bed' a painting by lucian freud (fun fact, sigmund freud's grandson);

see painting here:

[adioraemilora]

he is more than a man

(inspired by sappho 31 ["He seems to me equal to gods"] translated by mary bernard)

he is a god

he is a monster

he is a mere boy

allowed to sit by me, to hold my hand

to touch which my voice takes flight

to lean in, which my heart in double time

voiceless, breathless and dumb.

he is a hero

he is a villain

he is a mere peasant

he, leaving me senseless, tastes his power

the roaring flames, blue and thin, under my skin

laughter, fluttering like my eyes, seeing nothing

pale, like last week's flowers, death may elope me.

(in the og poem, 'he' is a gender-neutral pronoun, sappho was supposed wlw (hence sapphic) take this as you interpret it)

[adioraemilora]

5 a day

mother said to always finish my meals,

before I take dessert.

uneaten lengths of text, left ravelled tight, in phrases, sentences, paragraphs of font size 12, garamond, justified. they are flows of consciousness, trailing lengths of sepia-stained pages, paperbound by the desire to make… art.  designed to catch me. designed to sustain me, to serve thought and story, and plated to make human emotion and human desire, delectable.

that is not consumed

it is left for another pull at the

fated     slot    machine

and hope for

that sweet rush of happamine.

(this is meant to be formatted in size 12 garamond justified but hey ho). I just finished heaven by meiko Kawakami, so that is where I got happamine from. but yeah about the hell which is social media (I'm addicted to threads and Instagram reels I can't lie) and wishing I could just read a book instead. relatable???

[adioraemilora]

mind the ... gap

(there are some strong themes in here and a profanity so, be warned)

i like taking trains. i like the voice of the

‘mind the gap’

i like seeing which people take the same journey

and wonder where they came from

and where they might go

i like central london, i like the hustle bustle

tourists, stood in the middle of the road

while we’re late for something and pissed

but it’s just funny, that they want to be here.

i like buying stuff. i like sucrose glucose combos from hell

stuffing sweets and fizzy down my throat and

wondering where that might go (my thighs)

wondering how it makes me feel (sick, duh)

i like big train stations. i like how they have it all,

sweets, tourists, ‘mind the gap’ and trains

but i have something to ask…

do you ever get thoughts of walking onto the tracks?

an incoming train…

get other londoners to go, ‘should’ve killed themselves differently…’

‘maybe an overdose would have done the trick.’

do you ever think

maybe, just maybe

don’t mind the fucking gap.

lol this is my first post i wanted to write this in a very childish almost bratty voice to definitely echo some of the dumb thoughts and ideas me as an 18 going on 19 year old has. i would love feedback etc and yeah!