First no boundaries on the Internet. Then psychotic break.

Flying away
Like butterflies
In poetry
Is probably over.

Stunned.

Or dead.
The bird might appear
both ways.

Seratonin

Intoxication.
The squirrels are
the homeless people.

Jumping off buildings.

Running into windows.

Professionals of drama.

How to make this lucrative.
First no boundaries on the Internet.
Then psychotic break.

I love you and I miss you.

Two nights ago
I dreamt I shattered
the Selfie Mirror
on purpose.

Still in tact,

its lightning bolt border
of purple nail polish
pissed me off.

Several years

Of misfortune ahead.
I still felt there
was more to destroy.

The broken glass

nearly reflected
my rage,
but not quite.

The End.


The Selfie Mirror


Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)
Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


Hi, my name is Erica. I'm having thoughts of Death.
Why you are a hermaphrodite.
Simon Girard (1979-2015)

So busy! Not turning into a carrot.

So busy!
Not turning into
A carrot.

When I am dead

Will someone
remember
The shape
of my ass?

Elusive Running Man,

New Year’s Eve’s Oblivion,
You might make time
For my funeral.

"That ass,"
you once said.
"A work of art."

I appreciate

that,
while also respecting your choice
to run from my generous offer to let you stick your fingers up my vagina to retrieve the lost jade egg.

After some consideration

I took this as a no.

The End.

In Honour of International Women's Day, I wanted to perform this poem. I had even prepared some choreography; however, it seems that videos posted to the blog are not available on mobile devices and so my vlogging career will be postponed. And oh well. It's possible I might regret the performance later.

This poem is still in honour of International Women's Day and is meant as a vague response to Sophie Trudeau's call for all women to post photos of themselves holding hands with their favourite male slash vagina advocates and allies.

For the five or so sentences worth of knowledge I have on Sophie Trudeau, I think we might actually get along. But I want Sophie to realize that not everyone is blessed with powerful and available male allies. For example, as this poem describes, two Fridays ago, the jade egg got stuck up my vagina and none of my male allies slash vagina advocates were around to stand up to the occasion. It happens that some people and their vaginas often find themselves at a bit of a loss.

 

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

Bodhisattva Business Ventures:

Deep Cleans by Erica J. Schmidt (@deepcleanswitherica)
Montreal Hippie Threads (@mtlhippiethreads)
Instagram: montrealhippiethreads


Awakened by the Exit of the Broccoli Water
What a Beautiful Face
Cardboard Box


Deep Unyielding Depression, Part Two