Instagram Blues
Look at me
look at this watermelon juice
I just made it, fresh
Look at me
look at my ass in these jeans
in this bikini
in this picture
don’t I look hot?
My lips are as plush
as Kim Kardashian’s
I bought the same
shoes as her
we fly
we out here
hashtag
Look at the moon
look at my bedroom walls
look at me
all drunk
and stoned
waiting for your likes
your hearts
your attention
your approval
Messy Bedrooms Filled With New Lovers
I am an Artist
I say,
lean back in my chair, kick up my heels, hike up my skirt,
breathe in the ocean
I smoke a cigarette, I rolled it myself
Drink tea and martinis,
wear one pieces
rock mini skirts
enjoy cake in the afternoons by the pool
I have rooms with views
I enjoy the company of myself
I listen to Pink Floyd on repeat, lie in my hammock, wear heels while I vacuum
I go to New York for cocktail parties
I contemplate the molecular structure of matter and spirit,
and I think I am starting to see ghosts
I see through you, yes I do
I like to put a new paint job on things
So I say,
I can’t hear about billions and bailouts and banks anymore
J’aimerais trouver honnêtee
I explain my need to go to more drum circles,
dance in the twilight
swing under moonshine
I wanna wear more feathers in my hair, I tell him
I need to get lost in more train stations,
dance on more tables
have sex with Jim Morrison
I’ve got my mind made up
I want to be wild and unruly,
live a life without logic
enter the fifth world unapologetically
I’d like to read more romantic poetry,
go to Graceland,
have burning love light my morning skies
In the near future, I plan on time traveling,
riding on horseback
to lands with eternal dimensions,
ever living ghosts,
and messy bedrooms filled with new lovers
I’d like to hang out in my bed with John and Yoko
probably on a Saturday morning or something,
get around to brunch when we get around to it
I wanna walk a tight wire and
find a shade of lipstick I’m crazy about…
I take a breath and sip while he listens
I see, He says
FINALLY, I say
If Poetry Were A Gossip Magazine
Oh
My
God
Becky
Look at her poem
It is like, so bad
as if she doesn’t
punctuate properly
like she doesn’t even
capitalize
Duh
like, she is so not
literary enough
who does she think she is
writing poems
with no degree
no professor
no followers
lol
Jaime Barash is a writer living on the shores of Lake Erie. She is currently working on her forthcoming book of Essays, Poetry, Mantras, and Musings, SODA POP WISHES & COFFEE STAINED DREAMS. Her poetry has been published on Hobart and on her Substack.
Back Patio Press 