day 16: my personal dystopia's radio propaganda

I'm a psychic scammer.
I'm a shot-in-the-air dancer.
I know some damn complicated arithmetic,
and I don't see art being good friends with science.
Music should only make you want to sweat in clubs,
and dirt should always be swept under the rug.

I can understand what whales say,
but it's not that beautiful.
I can see all the way out of our star cluster,
but there's nothing interesting.
I'm never tempted to see the marrow of my bones,
and not once have I ever wanted to try flying.

I'm a person who can make eye contact,
and hold the gaze of someone whose entire aura shakes mine.
Not that yours does. Your aura, I mean. Do you even have one?

I don't think about you that much.
Liking you was just a phase.
The things we have in common don't mean much,
and I'm definitely not counting the days until you're here.
Cool.
Alright.
Everything is all right.

Life should be lived fast
and everything should be a blur--
I only see your face as in a Monét-pond-reflection,
As if I don't remember it.
What color are your eyes?
Have I ever made you laugh?
Maybe, but it's not like you touched the nape of my neck at all.

Dolphins aren't smart, the Pope ain't great,
And Poems should always and never not rhyme.
Fried chicken is the best for you, and here's a cold fact:
I could never see myself staying with you for a long time.

No holocaust has ever happened,
and we're no longer at war.
Words should say exactly what they mean,
and I don't know what the thought of you is for.

-Dana Winter