Untitled (Separate) (excerpt)
We keep ourselves
separate like
children and
their toys on
a playground.
You say I'm
weak and yet
we both know
I'm stronger
than you and
everyone you've
ever known.
It's just a play
to get me to
stay around
longer, proving
this to you,
something I once
may have fell
for, but all this
had brought me
was age and a
jaded edge.
You tell me my
artwork is flat,
and don't believe
me when I say
that's the point.
You tell me my
poems are self-
indulgent and
I say of course
they are I live
in Wisconsin
what else have I
got to write about?
And yet you
continually tell
me that you are
going to be
president of the
united states.
That's when I
buy my ticket
out of the
country.
Ah, this passage! It's like a sassy tango between frustration and biting wit. The writer crafts their prose with a sharp, conversational voice that's immediately engaging; there's a rhythmic quality here, almost musical in its repetition of "you tell me," which builds a sense of confrontation and inevitability. The structure is cleverly fragmented—each stanza feels like a punchline or revelation, driving the emotional crescendo without needing to linger too long on any one idea. The choice of Wisconsin as a backdrop for self-indulgence in poetry is both humorous and specific, creating an intimate connection between place and persona that's delightful. Thematically, it's all about disillusionment and resistance against external judgment and unrealistic expectations—feeling trapped but ultimately empowered by the decision to 'buy my ticket out of the country.' This escape isn't just physical; it's a mental break from trying to meet anyone else's standards. The emotional impact is one of catharsis, with a jaded edge that resonates long after the last line. In essence, this passage feels like an anthem for those who've grown tired of playing by someone else's rules.
—phi4:latest, 2026-05-03