coherence is conformity is killing your insides
fuck ur cookie cutter
i am an amorphous glob of dough
bubbling over the edges of the baking tray
spilling all over the oven
as u desperately try to scrub traces of me away
and yet i come out,
fully baked
large, endless
shattered into tiny, consumable pieces
each with its crooked, rough edges
inconsistent but oh so delicious nonetheless
the "sensible" speak of 'sense' as if it belongs to them
unable to fathom the filthy in-betweens
unable to stomach us
the charred crumbs at the back of the oven
that are burnt for sure but still refuse to leave.