12 Apr Emilie Lafleur
This is the season of lights.
Life is a related fourth lesson: misfortune.
Crying is too human a blank slate. I give up on my writing,
the very thing I sell hatred of.
My spring aesthetic is a conceptual poem about
————Is giving it up what makes it?
Gone is my love for literary theory. I have to stop thinking about
Chris Burden, literally.
Metaphor is an art piece. What happens if I write about queer women?
Keep wading, then.
————Until 1:38 a.m.
Destroy my emotional landscape. This is imagery of my true self.
Welcome to all the full moons.
My horoscope says:
winter is rapid heartbeat, suffocating sensation, blurry vision, sweaty palms.
Montreal, I’m now artist trash. I’m experiencing belated, anachronistic
I’m just as crazy without you. It is beautiful.
I don’t want to water you.
————I’m going on social media.
————————I’m ignoring the top-knot trend.
Nostalgia is completed, exit the fucking line.
Emilie Lafleur is a Montreal-based writer. Currently studying English and Creative Writing at Concordia, she enjoys connecting with people by checking their horoscopes instead of actually interacting with them. Follow her on Twitter @emelafleur for a poetic play-by-play of her various existential crises.