TURBINE | KAPOHAU

CADENCE CHUNG

 

t33n po3t

 

u know you’re a poet        when you find poetry     in the lvl 4 bathroom

     where girls compliment your over-glittered face     offer you a goon from a crusty vape pen

u know you’re a poet       when you find the innate meaning of humanity or whatever

       in the quiet breathing coming from the next stall      the Frida Kahlo socks peeping out

making you think of art       making you try not to think about it.       if you’re a poet

       your fav painting is The Garden of Earthly Delights       oversized berries and sin

like a Where’s Wally of depravity      like the house party last weekend   

       where everyone got together and then broke up.       if you’re a poet

you go to all the poetry workshops at school       sit in the marae listening to lurid

       soliloquies about angels and saving the ocean        think about the fire

lighting Hell up from behind          all the medieval astronauts frolicking about.

        if you’re a poet            you worry about your last words      they’d better be

something good          something deep      but not too deep because then you’ll just

        look pretentious          something witty      but not so witty you look careless.

you’ll try too hard     writing about goodbyes      and loneliness       and all those

        other emotions that never look good on the page.    you find song lyrics

in the comment section of a YouTube video         all caps:

     SOMETIMES IT”S LIKE SOMEONE TOOK A KNIFE BABY EDGY

AND DULL AND CUT A SIX INCH VALLEY THROUGH THE MIDDLE OF MY SOUL

       or      YOU MADE ME FEEL AN EMOTION I’LL NEVER FEEL AGAIN

and you think the best poets       scrawl poems on imageboards and toilet walls

        for a few dislikes        or a Sharpie smiley-face.       if you’re a poet

you find this endlessly poetic       you find everything poetic      you wish it was

      Byron’s era again         so you could write something florid about trees

and everyone would love you and publish your books in Japanese vellum

       die of cholera at the ripe old age of twenty-five      have a gravestone covered

in kisses.      u know you’re a poet       if you cry at tumblr textposts      if u wanna

       cover your house in runes          (but maybe not because that would require

a lot of commitment)              if you can’t think of any last words      or any words

    to end this poem         hide all doubt with emojis     and outdated kisses    xoxoxo